


Save Me

by K_E_D



Series: Save Me [1]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholics Anonymous, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blackouts, Blow Jobs, Dark, Darkness, Depression, F/F, F/M, Feral Behavior, Flashbacks, Frottage, Hallucinations, Hand Jobs, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Minor Character Death, Murder, Nightmares, POV Multiple, Pack Bonding, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Nemeton, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Rimming, SPN set in seasons 3 and 4, Self-Harm, Sleepwalking, Social Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, Traumatized Derek, amnesia due to trauma, tw disregards seasons 3b & 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-02-28 06:28:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2722121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_E_D/pseuds/K_E_D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after he left, Derek returns to Beacon Hills - returns to someone he never realized he lost.</p><p>Stiles barely recognizes the man that falls through his window at two in the morning - beaten, bruised, and begging for help.</p><p>What has happened to him and can the pack pull him through this dark time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Help

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in the future and disregards Season 3b 4. It's an idea I had about what could've happened when Derek left that night with Cora. Part 1 will be the present time (with flashbacks intermixed), part 2 will be Sam & Dean's POV, and part 3 will be Derek's journey in full description from beginning to end (when he returns to BH).
> 
> Save Me is mostly a Teen Wolf story, with a very minor Supernatural piece (though Part 2 will completely SPN obviously).
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

**Stiles**

 

Light footsteps patter across his roof, making him tense beneath the covers.  If it were something friendly, it wouldn’t be making so much noise.  He thinks of running, but doesn’t want to attract attention to himself.  Plus, it’s not like he’d be able to outrun whatever it is, or even fight it because there’s a 90/10 chance that whatever is up there isn’t human.  Beacon Hills has been relatively quiet for the past 2 years, but the darkness never left him.  Stiles is always on guard, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

The footsteps stop and he jumps as something scratches against his window.  If it were any of the pack, they’d either call first or use the front door.  Stiles now had a very strict front door policy.  He even took to locking the window when Isaac kept failing to obey the rule.  Whatever is outside, scratches for a few more minutes, before the wood begins to groan.  He stares wide-eyed and paralyzed by fear as whomever or whatever it is, tries to pry his window open.  They succeed, breaking the lock and almost ripping the glass out.  He scrambles up against the headboard as someone clumsily falls through his now open window, landing with a sickening thud on his floor.  Whoever it is, doesn’t get up to attack him, but continues to lie there.  The only sounds in the room are the stranger’s heavy breathing because Stiles has been holding his breath.  After clutching his pillow for an unnecessary amount of time, he finally flicks the bedside lamp on and cautiously peers over the edge of his bed.

 

“Oh my _god_ ,” he says, eyes widening further.  “ _Derek_?” he yells.  Stiles crawls out of his bed, the sheets tripping him, and he lands with a grunt.  He quickly regains his wits because there is a very injured, very naked – _holy god, he’s naked_ – Derek Hale bleeding out on his floor.  After staring for a good 30 seconds, Stiles hastily pulls a sheet closer and drapes it over Derek’s nether regions.

 

The man still hasn’t moved, simply blinking up at the ceiling, and panting as if he’s been running a long time.  His body is covered in what Stiles recognizes as claw marks.  He’s been around the pack after a training session enough times to know the wounds were delivered by an Alpha.  They’re barely healing and still bleeding a bit.

 

“Derek?” Stiles calls again.  He lays a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder and is shocked when the wolf flinches.  “Um, okay…we need to get you patched up,” he mutters.  “Can you move?”

 

Stiles hesitates to touch him again, not knowing exactly what state of mind the wolf is in.  It would help if they guy would say something or even acknowledge he knew where he was.  Even when they first met, Derek was never _this_ quiet.  He didn’t say much, but there was always _something_ ; a roll of the eyes, a growl, pushing Stiles into walls…

 

He shakes his head to focus and cautiously moves closer, which finally gets him a reaction.  Derek glances at him, but doesn’t say anything.  The boy gently prods him to sit up and he complies, wincing as his wounds bleed more.  Stiles helps him to his feet and has to catch him when his knees give out.  He doesn’t think he’s _ever_ seen Derek this bad and it worries him more than he likes to admit.  They make their way into the hallway and Stiles is really grateful his dad is working the night shift.  Yes, he knew about the supernatural, but that doesn’t mean Stiles likes him being around it.

 

Once in the bathroom, Stiles turns the shower on and digs out his overly stocked first aid kit as the water warms.  He’s propped Derek up on the toilet lid and the guy’s returned to staring blankly at the floor.  Stiles looks him over (trying to be respectful of… _areas_ ) and grimaces at all the dirt and blood that’s caked onto his entire body.  It looks like Derek’s life still hasn’t gotten any better and…the universe _really_ needs to give him a break.  The man’s life is one giant disaster after the next and Stiles can’t help wanting to fix it, but that’s impossible.

 

Derek eventually looks up at him and Stiles’ breath hitches at the raw emotion he sees.  Whatever’s happened, this isn’t the same man that left with his sister 2 years ago.  No one has _ever_ looked at him like that; like if Stiles didn’t help him, he didn’t know what to do, like he was hanging by a thread and about to fall.  Well, fuck _that_ , Stiles was gonna do his damn best to make sure the wolf didn’t fall.

 

He holds out a hand and Derek glances at it, but doesn’t take it.  Stiles shuffles closer, but stops when Derek tenses.

 

“Dude, you’re kind of freaking me out.  Please say something,” he mutters.  Derek looks frozen in what Stiles can only guess is fear…which, yeah Stiles is officially beyond worried.  “Derek, I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.  He cautiously reaches out and when his hands rest on Derek’s shoulders, the man sighs and his eyes fall closed.  It’s Stiles’ turn to tense when the man leans against him, his forehead pushing gently into his stomach.  After a moment of awkwardness, he brushes his fingers slowly through Derek’s hair, not sure what else to do.  It’s quiet as steam rises around them, Derek’s breath having steadied by now.  Stiles’ heart is faster than normal, but that’s to be expected with all the hot werewolf wrapped in his arms right now.  But that werewolf is naked and starting to shiver, so…moving on.

 

“I think the water’s warm now,” he says.  Stiles gently tugs Derek to his feet and helps him into the shower.  He sighs as he realizes he’s probably gonna have to wash him.  This could potentially be the most awkward thing he’s ever done, but he’s going to do it anyway because someone needs him and he hates letting people down.  Not wanting his clothes to get soaked, he strips off his shirt.  Back in high school, he never would have been brave enough to show his body in front of someone like Derek, but he gained a bit of confidence and some lean muscle during these last two years.

 

When he looks back up, Derek is staring wide-eyed at him, but Stiles quickly realizes it’s not the good kind of staring.

 

“Derek?” he asks, reaching for his shoulder again.  The man literally cringes away from him and he’d be offended if he didn’t think something else was going on here.  “Do…you want me to put this back on?” he asks slowly, holding up the shirt.  Derek eventually nods and Stiles quickly redresses.  He can just change later if it gets wet.  “Better?”

 

Derek looks away and doesn’t give an answer, but he does slowly relax again, so Stiles assumes it’s a yes.  He wonders how to approach this situation and then remembers how Scott deals with Isaac’s bad days.  Scott talks him through everything, which Stiles can totally do; he’s definitely still the talker of the group.

 

“Okay, I’m thinking shampoo first?” he asks.  Derek doesn’t answer, so Stiles just grabs the bottle, squirts a decent amount into his palm.  “I’m just gonna wash your hair now,” he mutters.  He sees Derek nod slightly and feels better about approaching him.  Once his hands are on him again, he relaxes and lets Stiles scrub his scalp.  It takes two rinses to get it clean, but eventually it’s back to a glistening darkness.  “Conditioner,” Stiles announces next.  Once that’s done, he grabs the loofa and soaps it up.  “I’m gonna wash…well, the rest of you now, I suppose.  That okay?” he asks.  Derek takes a while to respond, but Stiles waits patiently for him to nod; he doesn’t want to just assume.  Once he gets the all clear, he slowly starts at the back of the wolf’s neck and works his way across his broad shoulders.

 

The water begins to turn a reddish-brown as the muck sloshes off Derek’s body.  Stiles grimaces as skin makes its way down the drain as well, but Derek doesn’t look to be in any extra pain.  He scrubs over the triskele tattoo and can’t help but gently trace his finger over the swirling lines.  Derek startles slightly at the touch, but soon leans a tiny bit closer.  His hand continues to follow the loofa down the wolf’s back, earning him a shiver, which surprises and turns him on at the same time.  Stiles completely ignores the tightness in his jeans and pretends that the wolf does _not_ have super senses.

 

He bypasses that – _dear lord­­_ – perfect ass for now and crouches down to wash Derek’s feet – which are covered in tiny cuts.  Stiles slowly makes his way up, revealing pale skin beneath the mud.  The man is actually _much_ paler than Stiles remembered which kind of worries him.  The only time he remembers seeing Derek look like this was when he was shot with wolfs bane. 

 

While he was thinking, he totally forgot to call out a warning about washing the man’s backside and was already done with one cheek.  He was about to continue, when he picked up on the fast breathing above him and froze.  Now that he was paying attention, Derek’s entire body had tensed.  Stiles quickly took his hands off, but after a few moments he had to do something because Derek wasn’t calming down.

 

He stood up and peered around to see the man’s face.  His eyes were closed and he was breathing franticly through his nose, but Stiles is well aware that not enough oxygen was reaching his lungs, werewolf or not.  He quickly stepped in front of the other and debated on whether or not to touch him.  When he’s having an attack, he needs someone to touch him to ground him, but he knows from Isaac that not everyone wants to be touched during these moments.  Considering he thinks _touching_ is what got them in this situation, he’s gonna veto that idea.

 

“Derek, you’re okay, you’re safe.  Open your eyes and look at me,” he says calmly.  Derek immediately pries open his eyes, which is just another thing to surprise him tonight.  He’s never gonna be used to this obedient and silent Derek.  “Okay, that’s good.  Now try to follow my breathing.  In through your nose, out through your mouth,” he says, demonstrating.  Derek watches him and soon begins following the pattern.  “You’re doing well, just keep breathing like that.”  After about ten minutes of staring at each other and breathing, Derek slowly begins to relax.  “Do you want me to stop washing?” he asks hesitantly.  Derek looks down at himself and then shakes his head.  “Is it okay if I touch you again?  I wasn’t really done with your backside…” he says, searching Derek’s face.  The man eventually nods, but his eyes track Stiles’ every movement.  When he reaches out, he flinches away and Stiles is about to reassure him he’s not gonna hurt him, but stops when it looks like he’s finally about to say something.  Derek’s lips part slightly and he breaths a few times before swallowing harshly.

 

“Keep talking,” he says.  His voice was hoarse and quiet, but Stiles still heard it.

 

“Now _that_ I can do,” Stiles says, smiling.  He launches into a story about that one time he thought it was a good idea to chase bees when he was little.  As he talks, Derek relaxes more and more, and barely flinches when Stiles begins scrubbing again.  He continues about how the bees were just a bunch of jackasses and works on Derek’s front, starting at his neck again.  Derek stares at him the whole time, seemingly listening intently to his story.

 

“When I finally caught one, I ran to school ‘cause I wanted to show my awesomeness to Lydia, which is when the whole ‘Lydia can’t stand Stiles’ thing began,” he finishes.  At the mention of Lydia, Derek tenses, so Stiles quickly begins a new story that doesn’t have her in it.  Maybe it was the whole Peter thing?  After all, they have no idea what happened to the guy.  He stuck around for a few months after the disaster with the Alpha pack and Jennifer, but then he left without a word, which no one complained about.

 

Stiles started talking about the new girl they met in junior year, but omitted the part about her not being human because that was a conversation for another day.  Instead he talked about how she let him drive her super fancy car, which he ended up wrecking.  He plowed it through a mail box, then a fence, then a barn.  The police came and his dad was called, which ended with community service and a 5 months of being grounded.

 

“And the judge _threw his book at me_ , when I answered his question of why I did it.  Granted, I was being a moron, but still, _I was hit with a law book_ , what the hell?  So, I told him I was trying to impress a girl, which by the way I did not accomplish.  Turns out girls _don’t_ like it when you wreck their cars.  Who knew?” he asks, chuckling to himself.  He’s already finished Derek’s chest, which was still nicely muscled, and was working on his legs now.  He rambled about his latest test blunder as he worked at Derek’s thighs.  Somehow, he managed to keep his eyes averted from the very nice and thick…okay, so he may have glanced.  Stiles was a bit embarrassed to note that while he was rock hard, Derek wasn’t showing _any_ signs of interest, not even a twitch.  But then again, he possibly almost died and looked exhausted, so Stiles wasn’t really that worried.  Also, if Derek was uncomfortable about Stiles being ridiculously aroused right now, he wasn’t saying anything or giving any signs.  Although he was starting to tense again as Stiles ran the loofa up his thigh.

 

Stiles had an internal struggle about whether or not he should continue and decided asking would once again be better than assuming.

 

“Do you want me to continue?” he asks.  When Derek stays quiet, Stiles glances up and finds the man staring down at him and clearly struggling with his words.  He swallows repeatedly before looking away and nodding, giving his consent.  _I am about to touch Derek Hale’s dick.  How has this become my life?_   Stiles takes a moment to thank whatever deity dropped a hot naked werewolf in his lap and then promptly chastised himself for being inappropriate.  This was no time to think about sex.  Derek was a mess and clearly came to Stiles to be taken care of… _not like that, brain, stop doing that_.  His hectic thoughts provided a decent distraction from what he was seeing and his brain eventually clicked into ‘clinical’.  That is, until Derek’s dick started looking interested and _oh my god, what do I do?_   Well, Derek said it was okay to touch him…so Stiles keeps cleaning all round him.  But he’s starting to worry because although ‘little Derek’ – who really needs a different name because that one doesn’t fit – is showing interest, the rest of Derek is very tense and definitely not in a good way.

 

“Derek?” he asks softly, not looking up.  He hears him purposely breathe in and out a few times and although Stiles is still touching him, his dick begins to go soft again.  He tries not to be too surprised, but really, he kind of is.  Derek didn’t strike him as someone who had difficulty with this kind of thing and he’s starting to get a very clear and _very, very bad_ idea of what Derek has been through.  Stiles quickly rinses him off, keeping the touching to a minimum.  When he stands and finally looks at the other man again, his face has gone even paler and his eyes are closed again.  Not sure what to do, he simply shuts the water off and reaches for a clean towel.  Derek startles badly when he begins to wrap it around him.

 

“Whoa, it’s okay, just a towel,” he murmurs.  Stiles secures it around his waist and helps him out of the tub.  “Do you want me to dry you off?” he asks.  Derek quickly shakes his head.  “Do you want me to leave?”

 

Derek still hasn’t looked at him, but he slowly shakes his head again.

 

“Okay, I won’t go anywhere.  I’ll just…turn around?” he asks.  Derek nods and Stiles does as asked – or answered rather.  He doesn’t hear any movement and wonders if Derek changed his mind, but patiently waits yet again.  He hardly ever has to wait on people nowadays.  The pack is full with mostly energetic people and the only one who still doesn’t seem used to his antics is Aiden – but really, Stiles still kind of hated him, so no loss there.

 

“You stopped talking,” Derek grumbles.

 

“Oh, right, I’m on it,” he says, forcing the excitement.  He begins listing all the shows he watches – and there are probably too many – and explaining about all his favorites.  Stiles is just starting on how much he misses _Breaking_ _Bad_ when he’s interrupted.

 

“I’m done.”  Stiles turns and sees a dried off and unbearably hot Derek staring at him, embarrassment from earlier seeming to have faded.  Also, the wounds have healed very nicely, only leaving pink scars that will probably fade by morning.

 

“Great.  Let’s see if I have anything that will fit you,” he says.  He stumbles over his own feet on the way out and Derek surprises him _yet again_ by catching him and propping him back up.  “Uh…thanks,” he mutters.  Yeah, it was definitely gonna take a while to get used to this Derek.  After rummaging through all his drawers and his closet, he manages to find a shirt – that’s still a bit snug – and sweatpants that actually fit.  They stand in awkward silence for a few minutes, until Stiles glances at the clock and realizes he’s exhausted because it’s _six in the morning_.  He climbs back under the covers and is very glad he purchased a queen size bed this past summer.  _Oh, but wait…_

 

“I can take the couch, if you…” he starts, but Derek’s already climbing in on the other side.  “Right, okay, cool,” he mutters and lies back down.  They stare at the ceiling, until Stiles flicks the light back off.  He swears the minute the room goes dark, he can actually _hear_ Derek stop breathing.  There is literally no sound, no movement, no nothing.  If that didn’t alert him to something being _drastically_ wrong, the flashing blue orbs a foot away definitely did it.

 

“Derek?” he asks.  _I think I’ve said his name more times in the last hour than I have in my entire life_.  When he calls out, the tension eases, but only because the rapid breathing begins again.  He quickly turns the lamp back on and peers over at Derek.  He’s fisting the sheets and blinking hurriedly as his irises continue to shift back and forth.  “You’re okay, Derek.  No one’s going to hurt you, I promise,” he says.  He debates on whether to move closer, but he thinks maybe space is better…but honestly, he has no idea.  “Try to breathe.  In through your nose, out through your mouth,” he reminds.  He demonstrates again, but it’s worse than last time and Derek isn’t focusing on anything but the panic. 

 

Stiles makes a quick decision, not seeing any other options, and slowly shuffles his body closer to the trembling werewolf.  He lays a gentle hand in the middle of Derek’s chest and the man flinches and whines.  It was short and high pitched, more wolf-like than human, but it’s not the first time Stiles has heard that, so he isn’t _too_ worried.

 

“It’s just me, it’s Stiles.  You’re safe here,” he says.  The man glances at him and finally latches onto his breathing, watching Stiles demonstrate the whole time.  To his utter shock – it can no longer be called surprise – Derek’s eyes fill with tears, but he holds them back.  Many people are uncomfortable when others’ cry in front of them, but Stiles has never had a problem with that.  He naturally wants to help people and if it’s some kind of emotional comfort, well, he can give that too.  Of course, that doesn’t stop his lips parting in _shock, not surprise_ because this is _Derek Hale_ , who Stiles never thought would cry in front of anyone, especially not himself.  Granted, he hadn’t actually started crying yet, but Stiles could just tell it was coming.

 

“Hey, everything’s alright now, you’re safe,” Stiles whispers, moving closer.  He’s careful to only keep his hand on the other, not wanting to make him any more uncomfortable.  Derek bites his bottom lip, his chin trembling.  The wolf suddenly lunges, rolling fully into Stiles’ offered embraced.  He holds back for a few more seconds, but eventually Stiles can feel him shaking with silent sobs, which slowly become louder and more intense.  Stiles is officially upset too because fate should really stop shitting on this guy.  As the older man breaks down in his arms, he can’t help but shed a few tears of his own.  It was his natural response.  Crying people always got to him, not matter who it was.  Stiles was also insanely curious about what the hell happened to him.  He’d been gone for 2 whole years, _anything_ and _everything_ could have happened within that time.

 

Stiles stays silent and rubs Derek’s back, trying to comfort him, but honestly he doesn’t think it’s working.  After an hour, the sobs have become quiet again, but are still going strong and Stiles just wishes he knew how to help.  He knows how to help all – okay, _most_ – of the pack members when they cry.  Scott likes reassurance that Stiles isn’t leaving and he appreciates it when he throws jokes in at random moments; Isaac likes to be held, but hates it when Stiles talks during it; Lydia likes to be held too, but only for a few minutes and then she expects Stiles to come up with a solution to her problem; Danny and Ethan hardly ever cried in front of him and when they did, they left the room to seek out each other; he’s _never_ seen Aiden cry, nor does he really want to; the new girl, Kayla, just liked the arm around the shoulder and her crying fits only lasted a few minutes usually.  Allison was the only pack mate, that when she cried in front of him and he tried to hug her, she punched him in the arm so hard it left a bruise.  Stiles learned over the years that all she really wanted was for him to say that she had every right to be upset, whether he was being honest or not.

 

But Derek had always been different, _reacted_ to Stiles differently than the others.  But he does remember that when they had their brief moment in that hospital, Derek seemed to like the comforting touch.  Today, he revealed another thing that helped him, so Stiles did that too.

 

He rambled about school and how college kind of sucked, but at least he couldn’t get detentions any more.  At some point during his rant about his truly awful English professor, he glanced up and was startled to see his father standing in the door way.  He must have been there awhile because he only had a worried pinch to his eyes and was leaning against the door frame.  Stiles glanced down, wondering why Derek hadn’t reacted to his presence, only to find the wolf had cried himself to sleep… _in Stiles’ arms_.  His heart did a strange little flip, which made Derek clutch Stiles’ shirt tighter, but he remained asleep.  Looking back up, his dad raised his brows, but Stiles just shrugged.  The man sighed quietly, nodded, and then pointed down the hall to say he was going to bed.

 

Once he was gone, Stiles peered down again to make sure he hadn’t woken him.  Derek was fast asleep, face pressed against Stiles’ chest.  He snuggled further into the bed, rested his head on the pillow, and joined Derek in dream land.


	2. Code Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s quiet for a few seconds, only the sounds of the water reaching his ears. Then Stiles shouts and John is running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sheriff's POV
> 
> Enjoy :)

**Sheriff**

When he got home from work this morning, what he most definitely did _not_ expect to find was his son cuddling a very upset Derek Hale.  Now, he’d seen it happen with the pack on a few occasions, but he was under the impression the older wolf had left town at least 2 years ago.  John didn’t really have anything against the kid…it’s just that things seemed to go to crap when he was around.  Beacon Hills had been quiet for years now.  There hadn’t been any murders, or kidnappings, and his son had stopped coming home bruised and beaten.  To be honest, he could even say that his job had been _boring_ as of late (well, paper work was ridiculous, but the action had mostly stopped).  But he’ll take boring over serial killing supernatural creatures any day.

 

Of course, there was still the occasional day when ‘the darkness’ or whatever really messes with Stiles’ head, but he’s been doing well for a few weeks now.

 

After getting at least 4 hours of sleep, John grumbles to himself and climbs from his bed.  It was only around 10:30, but he’s never been able to stay asleep for more than 5 hours for a very long time.  Besides, he still had paper work to finish from that meth lab they cleared out a few days ago.  He washes up a bit and then changes into clean clothes before heading downstairs.

 

Stiles is standing at the stove, scrambling a large amount of eggs.  There was also bacon sizzling in a separate pan, home fries browning in the oven, and bread crisping in the toaster.  John stood back and watched for a moment, a small smile coming to his lips.  It was rare for Stiles to be home, let alone cooking breakfast.  He was either out with the pack or at school, which was fine by him.  At least his friends were able to drag him out of the house once in a while.  When he _was_ home, he was holed up in his room, blasting his music.  That last part was fairly new and still confused him a bit.  Stiles had never been one to use loud, harsh music as a distraction.  At least, not until that damn Nemeton thing.

 

John slides up to the counter and reaches for one of the bacon strips that have already been laid out to cool.  Predictably, Stiles slaps his hand away.

 

“Really, Stiles?  You can’t cook all this delicious food and expect me not to eat it,” he says.  He ends the comment with a pout, which gets him an eye roll.

 

“ _Two_ pieces, that’s it.  And you’ll have to wait until everything is done,” Stiles replies.  John nods triumphantly and opens the fridge to search for some orange juice.  Once he’s settled at the table, he patiently waits for his son to explain what the hell he witnessed this morning.  A few minutes go by and Stiles starts to fidget under his gaze.  _One…two…three…wait for it…_

 

“I can explain,” Stiles says.  John smirks over his cup of juice.  Silence was his best weapon, which took him a while to figure out.  “Okay, actually, no I can’t because I’m just as confused as you are,” Stiles grumbles, waving the spatula.

 

“Okay, we’ll start simple.  Is he still here?”

 

“Yeah, he’s in the shower.”

 

John raises a brow, which gets him a scandalized choke and a blush.

 

“Oh my god, I don’t wanna know what you’re thinking.  Whatever it is…just _no_ , that’s not what I meant,” he says.  Nothing may have happened last night, but he’s not blind.  He used to get that same look when he talked about Lydia and then about that Kayla girl for a while.  But did it have to be _Derek_?  Out of _all_ the werewolves his son had to choose from and he picks the one John has personally arrested on more than one occasion.  He honestly shouldn’t even be surprised.

 

“And why is he here?” he asks.

 

“He was hurt last night and I guess…I don’t know…I was the safest one to go to?” he answers.  It seems he’s confused _himself_ with that thought, so John doesn’t push.

 

“What happened to him?”

 

Stiles sighs and starts filling three plates.  “That’s the thing, I have no idea.  He won’t tell me what happened,” he says.  He places the dishes on the table and then takes a seat, leaning closer and speaking softly.  “I had to calm him down _twice_ last night.  And when I tried to get some information this morning, he bolted from the room and locked himself in the bathroom.”

 

John raises a brow at that as he spears some eggs onto his fork.

 

“Maybe you should call Scott.”

 

“Yeah, I thought of that, but I don’t know if it’s a good idea.  I don’t want Derek to freak out,” he says.  John nods and takes a bite of _delicious_ bacon – oh man, he’s missed bacon.

 

“Why would he freak out?” he asks.

 

“Dad, he keeps flinching around _me_ , I highly doubt inviting an Alpha to the house is going to help,” Stiles answers, slumping further into his seat.  John sighs and looks him over.  Clearly, this Derek thing is bothering him more than he’s saying.

 

“I thought you said betas felt more grounded with their Alpha around.”

 

“Yeah, they do, but I don’t know if that applies to Derek.  Scott’s not his Alpha and I’m not even sure he’s still a beta.”

 

John pauses at that because if he’s implying Derek is an _omega_ then maybe he should reconsider the threat.  He’s learned that Omegas tended to be irrational and lost control often.

 

“Is he dangerous?”

 

“Uh… _werewolf_.”

 

“Stiles…”

 

“I don’t think he’s dangerous, but like I’ve been saying, _I don’t know_ ,” Stiles replies, agitated.

 

“Alright, calm down.  Why don’t we all talk about this when he comes down?”

 

Stiles snorts and mutters, “Good luck with that.”

 

John ignores the attitude and refocuses on his tasty breakfast.  When he’s halfway through, he notices Stiles keeps looking at his watch, his restlessness increasing by the second.

 

“He’s been in there a long time,” he mumbles, looking at his watch again.

 

“How long?”

 

“Almost an hour.”

 

They both know for a fact that the hot water only lasts for about 25 minutes at the longest.

 

“I’m gonna check on him,” Stiles says, getting up.  John goes to follow him, but Stiles motions for him to stay.  He reluctantly stays at the table and listens intently in case he needs his gun.  Regular bullets may not do much, but they slow them down enough for humans to run away.  Footsteps march up the stairs and he rolls his eyes; kid always sounds like a damn herd of elephants.

 

John moves to the bottom of the staircase to hear better.  Stiles knocks on the bathroom door and calls for Derek, but there’s no answer.

 

“I made breakfast.  You should really eat something,” he says.  There’s still no answer and Stiles knocks a bit louder, even though they both know Derek should have been able to hear them breathing, let alone knocking on the door.  “Dude, answer me, come on.”  John ventures up to the second floor just as Stiles gives up and opens the bathroom door.  It’s quiet for a few seconds, only the sounds of the water reaching his ears.  Then Stiles shouts and John is running.

 

“Dad!  Code black, code black!” Stiles yells.  John redirects his running towards his son’s bedroom, sliding to his knees to unlock the trunk at the foot of the bed.  They’ve been through this a few times, but it never fails to send his heart racing.  Though there haven’t been many threats over the past few years, accidents still happen, so Stiles threw an emergency werewolf first aid kit together.  In the last week alone, they’ve had 3 code reds, but there hasn’t been a code black in about a year.

 

John digs through the chest and grabs the black bag.  Inside there are numerous needles already filled with anti-toxin liquids for the wolves.  They both still _profoundly_ hate dealing with needles, but they did what they had to, to keep the pack alive.  He doesn’t bother locking anything back up, figuring there isn’t enough time.  Rushing into the bathroom, he falters for a moment at the sight before him.  Derek is lying unconscious and naked on the floor of the tub, black goo leaking from his mouth, nose, and ears.

 

It always surprised him how calm and collected his son was during a crisis.  Of course, there was the crash later, but during the actual problem, he doesn’t panic.  He’s already got Derek on his side and is counting his pulse, fingers steady on his neck.  John hands over the bag when Stiles asks for it and kneels by his side.

 

“Keep count of his heart rate.  Tell me if it changes,” he says.  John does as told and finds Derek’s pulse.  He expected it to be weak, but it’s beating rapidly, the blood jumping under his touch.  Stiles unzips the bag and immediately grabs the bright green vial, which means the cause must be unhealed wounds from an Alpha.  He quickly finds a vein and plunges the needle in, injecting the serum slowly.  It takes a few seconds for him to realize that his counting has slowed way down.

 

“His heart has slowed,” he says.  Stiles looks up, calculations whirring in his brain.

 

“Slowed gradually, or plummeted?” he asks.

 

“It was too fast to be gradual, but it _is_ still there.”

 

Stiles curses and takes the needle out, only to grab for another one filled with a swirling white and green fluid.

 

“You think it’s a poison?”

 

“No, but if his heart changed that rapidly, that means it’s not healing properly.  This will steady it and if there _is_ a toxin, it’ll be flushed out,” he replies, slowly injecting the second serum.  John concentrates and sighs in relief when the pulse he’s been counting slowly, but surely, begins to even out.

 

“It’s working.”

 

Stiles lets a breath whoosh out as well and nods.

 

“Call Scott and Deaton.  Tell them what’s going on.”

 

John hesitates only for a moment, since that normally isn’t his job in these situations, but quickly does as told once again.  He normally doesn’t take orders from his son, but it’s different with the pack.  It’s best to let Stiles take control when it comes to them.  His gaze stays fixed on Stiles as he dials and listens to the ring.  There’s a deep frown forming and he’s hovering worriedly over the wolf.

 

John hopes more than anything that this won’t trigger his darkness, but there’s never any way to tell.  Never any kind of warning.  He sighs and prepares himself for a rough few hours – at the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most chapters will be about this length or slightly longer, but it will be a long-ish story.
> 
> Any and all comments are welcome :)


	3. Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek squares his shoulders and roars out a challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek's POV
> 
> Enjoy :)

**Derek**

 

Familiar, yet still foreign scents are all around him.  But it’s better to focus on that, rather than the searing pain travelling through his entire body.  Every muscle is sore and there’s a pounding in his temple that can’t mean anything good.  The hunger pains are warring with everything else, trying to get his attention.  He hasn’t eaten in days, but he doesn’t dare ask for anything.  It was pure luck that he found that small stream yesterday.  If he hadn’t, there’s a good chance he would have died of dehydration.  Running in his wolf form for so long takes a toll when he shifts back; his human body not strong enough to withstand going days without food or water.

 

Something cool brushes along his heated skin, making him shiver slightly.  It doesn’t take the pain away, but it does make it easier to handle.  Voices whisper around him, soft and gentle.  He’s not sure who they are and a part of him doesn’t _want_ to know.  If he opens his eyes and finds himself in another hell hole, he’s just gonna end it for good this time.  He doesn’t care who he promised any more.  They weren’t around, he was still on his own.  There wasn’t anyone to hold him back from ending it now.

 

On some level, he feels better knowing that he can control that one aspect of his life.  Everything else might be out of his hands, but he vows that when he dies, it will be at his _own_ hands; it will be _his_ choice to go, no one else’s.

 

The voices pull at his attention again and he recognizes them, but can’t remember who they belong to.  In fact, he can’t remember where he is at all.  He remembers running for days, finally escaping the disaster his life had been for the past two years.  Then he stumbled upon the stream, drank and rested.

 

That’s when he heard it.  A heartbeat that was so familiar and so fragile.  It was a sound he hadn’t realized he’d been searching for until he finally found it.  In wolf form, he didn’t realize who it belonged to.  Once at the house, he found he had to shift back to crawl into a familiar window.  He still didn’t know where he was until amber brown eyes were peering down at him and trying to help him.

 

Hoping to find those eyes again, he pries his own open.  He hisses at the bright light that burns his retinas and quickly blinks them closed again.

 

“Shut the curtains,” someone orders.  He really hopes that order wasn’t for him because there is no way he can move right now.  

 

“Derek, can you hear me?”  This voice is different, but also familiar.

 

He slowly reopens his eyes, relieved to find the light gone.  He waits for his sight to adjust, but it’s so dark he can barely see.  The empty blackness around him begins to close in on him, sending him reeling back to those days.

 

_No, no, no, no…this can’t be happening.  I escaped, this can’t be happening._

“Derek?” Stiles calls.  He knows that voice; had fallen asleep listening to it.  “I’m gonna turn the light back on, so shield your eyes for a minute.”  Derek does as told and waits.  He hears the flip of a switch and feels the tiny change in temperature as light fills the room.  “Alright, try again.”  Derek slowly opens them yet again, finding the room to be dimly lit by a small lamp this time.  A second later, Stiles is once again peering down at him, amber eyes soft with concern.  He wonders how this boy can still worry for him even after all this time.

 

Someone else grabs his hand and he flinches away from the contact.  Stiles scoffs and slaps whoever it is on the arm.

 

“Dude, I told you to warn him first,” he whispers harshly, as if Derek can’t hear him.  He wants to smile at the predictable behavior, but the pain still coursing through his body is making doing _anything_ impossible.

 

“Right, sorry,” another boy whispers.  He recognizes that one too.

 

_Wait…oh god, please don’t tell me…_

Before he can even finish the thought, he’s scrambling from the couch.  He lands in a crouch on the opposite side of the room, away from the threat.  Shifting into his beta form is the only way to keep the pain at bay, so he lets the wolf take over.

 

“What the hell was that?” Scott whispers, tugging on Stiles’ sleeve.  Derek growls and wants to pull the boy from the Alpha’s clutches, but his own fear paralyzes him.  He backs further away into the corner, keeping himself low to the ground to make himself less of a target.  The Alpha’s eyes flash and he takes a deliberate step closer.

 

“Scott, maybe you shouldn’t-”

 

Derek snarls when the boy touches the Alpha again, startling him.  He feels bad for scaring the human, but the boy clearly doesn’t realize he’s in danger.

 

“No, I think I can help,” the Alpha murmurs.  The wolf shifts into his beta form, fangs protruding and eyes burning.  Derek can feel his power swirl around him, setting his nerves on edge.   _Should I run or protect the human?_  Not wanting to give up his momentary safety, Derek squares his shoulders and roars out a challenge.  The Alpha doesn’t reciprocate, which is rare.  The man just continues to let his power sizzle in the air.  A few minutes go by and Derek is starting to feel something familiar, but he’s not sure what it is.  He backs down slightly, wary of the Alpha once again.  “Stiles,” the Alpha calls.  He motions the human forward and Derek tenses, not liking them to be so close.  “Try to get him to shift back.”

 

“How?” the human squeaks.

 

“I don’t know.  How do you get Kayla to shift back?”

 

“Scott, she’s a fox, not a wolf.  There’s a bit of a difference,” he replies, waving dramatically.  The Alpha sighs and shrugs.  The human - Stiles - rolls his eyes and cautiously steps forward.  Though he feels somewhat safe with him, he’s still wary because of the relationship he’s seen between the boy and his Alpha.  They are clearly very close, which doesn’t bode well for him.  “Derek…?” Stiles asks.  His name coming from this boy instantly has his nerves calming, but he’s not sure why.  His memories are foggy when he’s shifted, but he recognizes those eyes and that mouth.

 

Derek whines and forces his body to shift back to human.  He wants to fully remember this boy that’s trying to help him.  It’s rare for someone to show him kindness and he wants to be present for it.  Once his claws and fangs have retreated, his muscles begin to burn again, making him stumble forward.

  
“Whoa, I gotcha, big guy,” Stiles mutters.  Derek leans into him, calmed by his warm presence.  The boy doesn’t even hesitate to wrap his arms around him, even though not five minutes ago he feared him.  “You should lie down, Derek,” he says.  He lets Stiles lead him back to the couch, where he practically falls onto the cushions in exhaustion.  Once horizontal again, it doesn’t take long for him to slip back into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all comments are welcome :)


	4. She's Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles tries to get more information from Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some references from the show The Walking Dead in this chapter.
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

**Stiles**

 

“What should we do?” Stiles asks quietly.  They retreated into the kitchen to talk and not disturb the sleeping werewolf.  His dad was making a pot of coffee, while the boys tried to get info out of Deaton’s cryptic ass.

 

“Considering we don’t know what he’s been through, I suggest you keep the pack away for at least a few days.  I’ll talk to Marin about this later today.  She might have a better idea on how to handle this.  I’m knowledgeable in medicine, not psychology as she is.”  And with that, Deaton strolls right out the door.  That’s really all they ever got from him.  ‘Don’t do anything until I’ve researched this’.  But Stiles supposes it’s better than nothing.

 

“I think maybe I should go,” Scott says.  Stiles scoffs, but doesn’t argue and watches his Alpha saunter out the door.  The guy is actually a pretty good Alpha, but he seems to think that because Stiles is the emissary that he can just handle shit on his own all the time; usually that’s true, but this felt different.

 

“Stiles…” his dad sighs.  He knows that look and waves at the door.

 

“It’s okay, go to work, we’ll be fine.”  The man pats his shoulder sympathetically before hastily making his way through the living room and quietly shutting the door behind him.  Stiles sighs, running his hands through his hair before cautiously entering the living room once more.  He sits on the coffee table in front of the couch, looking over the sleeping werewolf.  There’s no telling how long he sits there, but eventually Derek stirs and blinks his eyes open.

 

They stare at each other, Stiles not really knowing what to say.  The man swallows harshly.

 

“Water?” he croaks.

 

“Right, yeah, of course,” Stiles says, quickly going to fetch some.  When he returns, Derek is struggling to sit up, clearly still sore from the injections Stiles gave him.  He’s never seen any of the other betas take this long to heal, which has him wondering if Derek really is an Omega.  Stiles sits by his side and carefully brings the glass to his lips.  The first sip goes down rough, making Derek choke but Stiles waits patiently, urging him to drink all of it.  He can’t help but wince at how sore the man looks, his movements stiff and unsure.

 

“You’ll be weak for a few more hours.  I had to give you something-”

 

The wolf’s attention snaps to him at that, fear coating his features.  “What did you give me?”

 

“It’s okay.  It was just something to make you heal faster.  You had internal bleeding, but that should be fixed up now,” he says calmly.  Derek stares at him for a few more seconds, but eventually relaxes back into the couch.  “Are you hungry?  I can warm up breakfast.”  

 

Stiles waits for the small nod and goes to the kitchen to pop Derek’s still full plate into the microwave.  He leans against the counter, seriously wondering what he’s doing.  This isn’t the first time he let an injured Derek Hale stay with him, but he also hasn’t seen the man in 2 years.  He needs to know if Derek was running from someone and if the pack needs to prepare.  But he also realizes that it might be a touchy subject and he’ll have to tread lightly.

 

Sighing, he returns with the food, finding Derek in the same position, staring listlessly at the wall.  His behavior was seriously starting to unnerve him, but there wasn’t much he could do but wait it out.

 

“Breakfast of champions, dude,” Stiles announces, sitting down with a cup of cocoa.  He hands the plate over with a fresh glass of orange juice.  Derek switches from staring at the wall to staring at the plate.  Stiles waits in awkward silence, trying not to fidget.  Eventually, he reaches for the remote.  “Do you mind if the TV’s on?” he asks.  Derek doesn’t answer and continues to stare longingly at his plate.  That is just really fucking sad.  “Eat up, man.  Plenty where that came from,” he says.  The man finally picks up his fork and scoops a bit of egg onto it.  He’s about to eat it, but pauses, briefly glancing at Stiles.   _Way to be a creeper, just watching the dude eat like that._

 

Stiles shakes his head and flicks the TV on, flipping through channels until he settles on an episode of The Walking Dead.  Derek had been solely focusing on his food – _finally_ – but when the sweet voice of Emily Kinney (aka Beth Greene) begins flowing from the speakers, he completely freezes.  The egg drops sadly back onto the plate as his green eyes glaze over.  Stiles wonders if he should turn it off, but thankfully a few seconds later Derek seems to snap out of it and slowly begins to eat.  He can’t even deny the not-so-subtle glances he does after that while commercials play.  That had been the first sign Derek recognized something other than Stiles.  It’s ridiculously hard to keep his mouth shut and not ask questions, but he manages it by chewing on the straw he’d slipped into his cocoa.

 

By distracting himself with the straw, he fails to notice Derek stealing the remote and rewinding until the song begins to play from the beginning again.  He looks around, finding the man’s plate empty except for the home fries.  It doesn’t look like he ate _any_ of those actually.  Who doesn’t like home fries?  He’s about to ask if there was something wrong with them, but the troubled frown and gloomy eyebrows have him shutting up.  The two sit and listen as the sisters sing _The Parting Glass_.  Beth’s singing is always one of those moments that seem to bring the mood down yet up at the same time.  He’s always loved those scenes and he can’t tell what Derek makes out of it.  What he does know is that the guy just rewound it for the third time.

 

“You know…there’s another scene like this-”

 

“I Ain’t a Judas,” Derek mutters.  Stiles doesn’t get it at first, but then realizes that it’s the title of the episode where Beth sings again.  Curious as to where this may go, he gets up to pop in the DVD disk.  Derek doesn’t argue when Stiles finds the episode and hits play.  He does, however, steal the controller again to fast forward to the end.

 

_“They hung a sign up in our town…’if you live it up, you won’t live it down’…”_

As the episode plays, Stiles watches the other slowly deflate even further into himself.  Clearly either this show or song means something to him; Stiles just wishes he knew the story behind it.

 

“I shouldn’t have left,” Derek says, sighing.  Stiles takes the opening and runs with it.

 

“Where did you go?” he asks.

 

“North.”  Stiles waits for more, but he doesn’t say anything.   _One word answers…I should’ve expected that._

 

“Derek…where’s Cora?” he asks hesitantly.  He hadn’t failed to notice that the she-wolf hadn’t come crashing through the window with her brother.  Derek flinches at her name, making Stiles shift a bit closer.  He’s a tactile person, okay, don’t judge.

 

“She wasn’t who I thought she was,” he replies.

 

“What does that mean?”

 

Derek’s eyes flash.  “It doesn’t matter.  She’s gone.”

 

“Gone…like…-”

 

A growl escapes as Derek glares at him.  “She deserved it,” he snaps.  Stiles nods quickly, agreeing to appease him.  The wolf roughly runs his fingers through his hair, seemingly trying to focus back on the TV.  It’s silent after that, save for Derek replaying the song over and over again.

 

They spend the next few hours like that.  If he never hears that song again, it will _still_ be too soon.  By the time Derek finally shuts it off, Stiles wants to stab himself in the face.

 

“How about we do something else?  Some different music?  Video games?” he offers.  Derek simply shrugs, making him sigh.  “Okay, different music it is.”  He shuffles around the room until his stereo and Ipod are hooked up and set to a low volume.  Pressing shuffle, a nice Ellie Goulding piece begins to play.  Satisfied with the choice, Stiles turns around…only to find Derek curled up into a corner of the couch.  He looks fucking terrified.  “Derek…?”

 

When there’s no response, Stiles quickly hits pause and cautiously approaches.  He reaches out and places a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder.

 

The snarl that pierces the silence has his heart hammering.  A hand grabs him roughly by the neck and his feet leave the floor.  There’s teeth and saliva and _oh holy god_.  He doesn’t know what to do.  It’s as if the past two years of training have completely vanished from his mind.  There’s an angry werewolf pinning him to a wall.  The fingers around his throat squeeze tighter, making him wheeze.  He tries to pry them off, but he’s no match, even for an Omega.  The only way to save himself is to plow through the primal haze.  He tries to speak, but only ends up choking.

 

Having nothing else, he grabs hold of Derek’s face and forces him to make eye contact.  His irises are an icy cold blue, the emptiness sinking down deep into his soul.  If he weren’t hopped up on adrenaline, he’s certain he would have shivered.  He keeps his touch gentle, stroking Derek’s cheeks and trying to make him focus.  Just as the edges of his vision begin to fade, Derek tilts his head as if confused.

 

Losing strength fast, Stiles’ hands fall to the wolf’s shoulders.  He blinks, trying to keep his eyes open long enough for Derek to connect, to come back to himself.  The blue flashes to green and then back a few times, before eventually landing on that soft sea foam hue.  He hears a startled whine and then he’s coughing and dragging in air the best he can.  Strong arms are holding him up and he leans against the solid wall of muscle.

 

“Stiles…I’m…I’m so sorry,” Derek says.  He can’t say it’s okay because it’s really not.  Nothing about this day has been okay.  When he manages to maintain deep breaths, he realizes that Derek never stopped apologizing.  He’s just repeating the words over and over again.  All the while, he hasn’t let Stiles go, continuing to prop him up against his chest.  Stiles hesitantly shifts his arms to more fully embrace the man, satisfied when the babbling finally ceases.  When they pull apart, Derek won’t look at him, his gaze firmly trained on the floor.  Stiles wants to reassure him, but before he can the wolf moves further away into the closest corner.

 

Derek squeezes himself into the smallest position he can on the floor, legs drawn up and arms wrapped around himself.  When he starts to rock back and forth, Stiles slowly lowers himself to his knees, so he’s no longer towering over him.  He shuffles closer, not sure what to do.

 

“I’m sorry…I’ll learn…I can be better,” Derek mutters.  Stiles ignores the heat behind his eyes and cautiously reaches out.  He’s really hoping the reaction isn’t the same as last time.

 

“Derek-”

 

“I didn’t mean to.  I’m sorry.  I’ll learn, I promise,” he says.  He flinches and pulls himself tighter.  “I know, I’ll stop.  I’m sorr-,” he stops mid-sentence.  His eyes are completely unfocused.  Stiles isn’t sure he even knows where he is.

 

_What the fuck do I do?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek POV next


	5. Answer Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek relives a moment with one of his former Alphas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, but I wanted to detail the flashback in Derek's POV
> 
> Warning: brief description of abuse/torture

**Derek**

 

“I didn’t mean to.  I’m sorry.  I’ll learn, I promise.”

 

_“Stop groveling, it’s pathetic.”_

 

“I know, I’ll stop.  I’m sorr-”

 

_“ **Stop** saying you’re sorry.  Apologies will get you nowhere.  You are not forgiven,” she says.  She leans closer, her brunette hair framing her pretty face.  The Alpha takes his chin roughly in her hand, her fingernails biting into his skin.  “You’ve been a very bad boy, Derek.  You know what this means, don’t you?”_

 

“Please don’t.  I’m sorry.  I won’t do it again.  Please-”

 

_“Shut **up** , you useless piece of crap.  You dared to raise your hand to me.  You will be punished for your betrayal.”  Sharp claws dig into his throat as she lifts him from the ground.  He doesn’t fight as she drags him across the room…not until he sees the cage door opening._

 

“No, I don’t want to go back.  Please don’t do this.  I won’t do it again-”

 

_His pleads are cut off when she shoves him into the metal crate and latches the door shut.  He instinctively reaches for the bars, but yelps and has to pull away when they shock him.  The smell of burned hair fills his nostrils as his skin slowly heals._

 

_“I’ll let you out when you’ve learned your lesson.”_

 

_He knows how he should answer, but the words won’t come.  This isn’t right, it was just an accident; he doesn’t need to be punished._

 

_“What do you say, Derek?” she demands.  He refuses to answer, a rare burning of anger rising up in him.  But it’s effectively diminished when the Alpha presses the button and the bars light up, scarring him and making it difficult to breathe.  He knows better than to cry out.  Screaming only makes the pain last longer.  “Answer me,” she hollers._

 

“Yes, Miss Eva!” he yelps.  “I need to learn.  I will learn,” he promises.

 

“ _Good boy.  No dinner for you tonight.  I’ll be back later to dole out the rest of your punishment,” she says.  Derek cringes at the mere thought of her return.  He curls up as tight as he can.  When the screams of the beta next door reach his ears, he tugs at his hair to distract himself._

 

“I’ll learn…I’ll learn…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all comments are welcome :)


	6. Grounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sheriff helps Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to try to update sooner from now on. I'm not making any promises, but I'm tryin'.

**Sheriff**

“Damn it,” he mutters.

His cellphone has been ringing nonstop for the last minute, but it’s buried under a mound of paperwork.  Frustrated, he sweeps half of it onto the floor, not caring about the mess at the moment.  Finally finding the damned thing, he flips it open without looking at the screen.

“What?” he barks.

“Dad?”

“Oh, Stiles, hey,” he sighs.  “Sorry, kid.  Just couldn’t find - wait, what’s going on?  Are you okay?” he asks.

“Actually…I could really use some help and I didn’t know who else to call.  I know you’re really busy, but-”

“Son, I’m never too busy when you need me, okay?  Now, what is it?”

“It’s Derek…I don’t…,” he trails off with a heavy sigh.  “Can you come home for a while?  I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m on my way.”

He hangs up, grabs his keys, and bolts for the door.  There was no point in asking what happened.  It was better to just get there as fast as he could.  He considered using his lights and siren to part traffic, but figured it might set any nearby wolves off, not to mention Derek when he pulls up.  John really hadn’t wanted to leave his son alone with him, but there was just so much _work_ to be done and he was _wildly_ understaffed.  He still didn’t finish all the paperwork for that last case.  Sighing to himself, he decides to worry about that later.  He’s back home in a few minutes and making his way up the driveway.  John knows better than to barge in, having seen the way Derek reacted to a simple touch.

Inside he finds Stiles kneeling by Derek in the far corner of the room.  His son slowly removes himself from the situation to join him on the other side.

“What’s happening?” he asks.  Looking him over, his heart jumps at the red marks along his son’s neck.  “Stiles, what the hell?”  He moves closer, holding the boy still to get a better look.

“Oh, yeah that…we may have had a little set back,” Stiles mutters.

“He hurt you?” he demands.

Stiles sighs and rolls his eyes, shrugging him off.  “Yeah, but it was an accident.”

“Stiles-”

“It was, okay?  I don’t even think he knew it was me.”

“What?”

“I think he was having some kind of flashback and I got in the way,” he replies.  John pinches the bridge of his nose, not believing his son can think of his own safety so callously.

“Stiles, I thought he wasn’t dangerous?”

“And like I said… _werewolf_ ,” Stiles argues, gesturing dramatically.  “Besides, that’s not the issue here.  I’m fine, Derek’s not.  I called for him, not me.”

John scowls, but eventually turns to regard the werewolf in question.  He’s got his head in his hands, fingers tugging at his hair.  The man’s curled himself into the small corner as much as possible.  John moves to approach him, but Stiles holds him back.

“Don’t touch him, he doesn’t like it,” he says frantically.

“I’m not gonna touch him.”

“And don’t get too close.  Remember, claws and fangs.”

“Stiles, would ya let me do my job?”

“Right, right, go for it,” he says, letting go.  

John sighs and proceeds to approach the man yet again.  He crouches in front of him and though Derek’s eyes are open, he doesn’t seem to notice.  The man is humming some song to himself.  It’s older, probably something from the 70’s, but he’s not really sure.  He thinks back on the course he took about handling victims…and then pauses for a moment to really think about that; because that’s what Derek is, right?  He’s a victim.  Of what, John doesn’t know.  But if it can send him this deep into a psychotic break…he doesn’t even _want_ to know.

The Sheriff carefully sits in front of him, making sure to still keep a safe distance away.

“Derek...Derek, you’re safe.  You’re in the Stilinski house, and you’re with Stiles and me,” he says.  He repeats that at least ten times, until Derek finally stops humming and blinks.  “Derek, you’re safe here.”  The man looks to him, seemingly confused.  “Hey, you’re okay.  It’s just me and Stiles.  You’re safe,” he says, continuing the soothing tone.

He knows from experience that it’s important to make the victim feel safe and to get them grounded.  Stiles slowly joins them on the floor, making Derek shift his gaze to him.  John doesn’t miss how he relaxes somewhat when his son is closer.  He has no idea what that’s about and really doesn’t want to question it right now.  Now that the situation is calmer though, it seems like his son is ready to take over once again.  John cautiously moves back and heads to the kitchen for a glass of water, giving them some privacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Stiles next.
> 
> Hope you're all still enjoying :)


	7. A Clue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Sheriff continue to help Derek recover from his flashback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but I'm updating more frequently now.

**Stiles**

It was totally the right move calling his dad.  He had all the right training for this kind of thing.  Stiles could usually handle things himself, but Derek had seriously freaked him out and he was afraid to make it worse.

Derek had loosened up some.  There was no more begging for his life, which Stiles is grateful for.  That had been fucking weird and Stiles had tried to reassure him that everything was fine, but it was like he couldn’t even hear him.  The humming had also stopped as his dad spoke to him.  Stiles wasn’t sure what the song was, but he vaguely recognized it.

“Is it okay if I come closer?” he asks.

Derek nods once and he immediately shuffles closer, making sure his movements are still slow.  He wants to reach out, but permission would be best he thinks.

“Can I touch you?” he asks quietly.   _Do not think inappropriate thoughts, this is no time for that._  Much to his disappointment, Derek shakes his head, tensing again.  “Okay, I won’t, don’t worry.  You’re still safe.”  They sit quietly for a few minutes before his dad returns with water.

“Do you know where you are?” he asks.  Derek nods, but still doesn’t say anything.  “Here, drink this.  It will help.”  When Derek hesitates, Stiles takes it for him, letting his dad leave the room again.

“Derek, you should really have some,” he prods gently.

The wolf reaches out a shaking hand for the glass and Stiles helps him drink again, just like earlier.  He likes when he’s able to help and not feel useless, even if it’s just something small.  The water does actually seem to help; maybe doing something is grounding him.  When the glass is empty, he clings to it and the silence falls again.

“We should get up, move around a bit,” he says.

He waits for a reply, which is another nod.  Stiles slowly stands and offers Derek a hand.  To his surprise, the man actually takes it.  He doesn’t let go even when he’s up.  His grips a tad too tight, but Stiles isn’t willing to complain.

“We could go back to the couch or upstairs?  Which would you prefer?” he asks.

Derek glances towards the stairs and Stiles understands the non-answer.  He motions for his dad that everything’s fine, which receives a nod.  They slowly make their way to the second floor.  He’s about to lead them to his bedroom, when Derek squeezes his hand.  Looking back, he sees they’ve stopped at the bathroom.

“Shower?” Derek asks.

Just like that, Stiles’ brain supplies some _very, very inappropriate_ thoughts.  He feels his face heat at the idea of showering _together_ …which is _stupid_ because that’s not even what the guy meant.  Derek tilts his head and then hastily drops his hand, putting more space between them.  Well…that was fucking awkward.

“Uh…you…yeah, sure, go for it, man,” he stutters.  The man practically races into the small room and shuts the door.  Stiles can hear the lock slip into place and now he’s just awkwardly standing in the hallway…alone…by himself…

He shakes his head and continues to his bedroom to find more clothes for the giant werewolf.  Thinking it over…didn’t Derek take a shower just this morning?   _And I know for a **fact** he took one last night…I know, I was there…_

Stiles isn’t even going to think about the excessive bathing because all reasons are horrible…and yeah, he’s gonna stop thinking about it now.  Instead, he pulls out his phone to let the pack know what’s going on and to tell them to stay away from the house for at least a few days.  All the responses are predictable freak outs, which he tells Scott to handle.  He’s the Alpha after all.

He also told Scott about the name Derek had muttered during his flashback.  It was just the first name: Eva.  But maybe Scott or Lydia can find something about an Alpha Eva in all the information they’ve gathered from other contacts.

After laying out more comfortable clothing, he spins in his desk chair, trying to distract himself.  With all the drama with Derek, he’d managed to ignore the darkness, but he’s alone now…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be much longer.


	8. Not Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has an episode with his darkness and we learn more of Derek's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Flashbacks

**Derek**

 

Shrugging off the constricting clothing, he watches the steam rise around him.  He avoids his reflection at all costs.  The monster that stares back taunts him, wants him to let the wolf take over again.  But he can’t be that person again, he _won’t_.  He made promises.

 

Derek doesn’t know why he’s even still holding onto them.  The first had been to a friend that’s been dead for nine months; the second to a _hunter_ of all people only a few weeks ago.  But they’d both been right to make him promise not to let the wolf take over.  For a while there, he’d been feral and so out of control he didn’t even know his own name.  The memories of that time, however, are still fresh and hard to handle.  But even that feels like a lifetime ago now, after the last few months he spent in the mountains with a girl he’d once called family.  Derek holds his breath as her face flashes through his mind.   _She’s not family, family doesn’t **do** what she-_

 

He shakes his head and hops into the shower, hoping the hot water will wash some of it away.  The water pours down his face, just as the rain had done a few weeks ago.

 

* * *

 

_The rain beats down heavy as they trudge through the mud.  His senses are foggy, but his wolf pushes him to keep going.  They have to find them.  He refuses to let the man live, not with him being the only threat still alive._

 

_“I think that’s him!”_

 

_The hunter rushes to his brother, who’s unconscious but alive.  Derek can barely hear his heart beating over the roar of the storm.  He sniffs the air, trying to pick up the scent of the Alpha._

 

_A dark blur leaps from the trees, landing on the hunter’s back.  The man shouts in pain, but Derek rips the wolf off before he can do any real damage.  The Alpha spins to face him, red eyes boring into him._

 

_“You just can’t get enough of my punishment, can you?” he chuckles.  Derek growls, forcing away the pain the statement brings.  “You were a joy in bed, Derek, really.  So…submissive,” he says, grinning._

 

_Derek lunges, claws slashing mid-air.  The Alpha dodges him, but he’s not a trained fighter as Derek is.  He eventually manages to get the upper hand with a deep gauge to the wolf’s stomach.  Leaning over him, he can’t ignore how poetic this is.  Here he is in the exact same position as 3 years ago, about to kill a man that murdered his family._

 

* * *

 

“Not family, not family,” Derek whispers harshly.

 

Why does he still think of her that way?  She betrayed him, not once, but _twice_.  Family isn’t something that exists, at least not for him.  It only leads to death, no matter the choices he makes.

 

The water has turned frigid, making him remember the snow under his feet-

 

He quickly shuts the water off before another memory can drown him.  Derek dries off and wraps the towel around him the best he can, covering as much as possible.  In the hall earlier, Stiles had the unmistakable scent of arousal on him.  Derek can’t do that, not now, maybe not ever.  Intimacy, love, sex.  it’s all so pointless.  None of it has ever done anything good for him.

 

Opening the door, he hesitantly makes his way down the hall towards Stiles’ bedroom.  His eyes widen as he steps inside.  There are books and loose papers all over the floor, the large bookshelf having been completely emptied.  All the drawers from the dresser have been emptied out as well, clothing left in a giant pile on the carpet.  It’s like someone ransacked the place, but he knows he would have heard someone break in.  Besides, Stiles is standing by the bookshelf, looking through the different novels and papers and arranging them one way, then taking them down and arranging them another way.

 

“The clothes on the bed are for you,” Stiles mutters, not looking away from his task.

 

His heart rate picks up at the statement.  He couldn’t remember how many times that’d been said to him; how many outfits he was forced to wear for them.  He desperately wants to trust Stiles, but it’s difficult.  He can’t help wonder if Stiles will be like all the others.

 

Derek quickly pulls the clothes on, pushing away the bad thoughts.  The material is soft and worn, the scent of Stiles surrounding him.  It’s comforting in a way nothing else has been.  It’s almost enough to convince him to trust the boy.

 

Stiles continues to organize his bookshelf as Derek watches.  His movements are shaky and almost manic, eyes completely focused on his task.  Shuffling feet roam towards them and stop in the doorway.

 

“Aw, damn,” the Sheriff sighs.

 

Derek presses himself into the wall, hoping to be less noticed there.  He’s still wary of the man, his scent filled with gun oil.  Taking a step further into the room, he looks around at the mess.

 

“Stiles…how you feeling, kid?” he asks quietly.  The boy flicks a nervous tongue over his lips, hands still flashing around to organize his books.

 

“Fine, everything’s fine,” he mumbles.  The Sheriff frowns, but doesn’t move towards him.

 

“Do you want me to call Scott?” he asks.

 

“No,” Stiles snaps.

 

The acrid scent of fear boils through the room, making Derek shift uncomfortably.  The boy suddenly drops the books he’s holding to rush to the window.  He locks it in place and then reaches for a small pouch on the windowsill.  The unmistakable shift in the air has Derek’s vision flashing.

 

“Stiles…?” he calls.  The kid doesn’t look to him, ignoring the both of them.  Once he finishes sealing the window, he returns to his bookshelf.

 

“Can’t let them in,” he mutters.

 

“Ah, kid,” the Sheriff grumbles sadly.  He glances at his watch, frowning.  “I’m supposed to go in…but maybe I should stay home,” he says.

 

“You should go,” Stiles mutters.  “Station is safer,” he adds.

 

His father frowns and looks at his watch again.  The man glances to Derek, who is quick to look at the floor again.  Human or wolf – someone with a weapon is always to be feared.

 

“Look, uh…I should really head to work, but I don’t wanna leave you alone either.  Would it be alright if one of the pack comes over?” he asks.

 

It takes a few minutes for Derek to realize the man is talking to him and not Stiles.  He bites his lip, not knowing how to answer.   _What does he want me to say?  I don’t know him well enough.  I don’t know what he wants.  I don’t know how to keep him calm._

 

“Whatever you want is fine,” he mutters.  The officer sighs heavily, making the wolf cringe further into the wall.   _I’ve upset him.  I didn’t mean to._

 

“No, it’s fine, Derek.  I shouldn’t have…,” he says and then trails off with another sigh.  “Never mind,” he grumbles.

 

The wolf concentrates on keeping his breathing calm, needing to hear if the human reaches for his weapon.  If he can duck fast enough, maybe he can tackle the man and run for the exit.  Stiles had blocked the window, so the only option was the door.

 

_Why did he block the window?_

 

He didn’t know who to focus on more – Stiles or his father.  If the boy wasn’t a threat, then why did he lock him inside?  Then again, something was off about Stiles at the moment…he definitely wasn’t acting like himself.

 

The Sheriff shuffles away to make a call, but Derek tunes him out, watching Stiles instead.  The kid hasn’t stopped his frantic organizing, his eyes shifting around the room every now and then.  He glances at Derek a few times and frowns as if confused every time.

 

_I don’t understand what’s happening._

 

“Stiles?” he asks.  He takes a few steps forward, but stops when the Sheriff returns.  Derek freezes where he is, unsure if movement will set the man off.

 

“I called Melissa.  She’ll be here in a few minutes,” he announces.

 

Stiles pauses, tilts his head as if considering, but doesn’t respond.  His movements are still quick and his heart’s beating too fast for Derek’s liking.  As for this Melissa person…he knew her, didn’t he?  She was a nurse or something.  Maybe she’s Stiles’ nurse?  He shouldn’t need a nurse, he’s too young – he should be healthy and safe.  The Sheriff turns to him then, uneasy smile on his face.

 

“You remember her, right?  Will it be okay if she comes over?” he asks.

 

Derek only vaguely remembers this woman and honestly doesn’t want _anyone_ to come over.  He can barely handle being around Stiles right now.  But does this man want Melissa to come over?  It sounds like he does.

 

_Should I ask?  Will questions upset him?  He didn’t say I couldn’t ask questions.  I wish he’d just tell me what he wants._

 

“Um…I don’t…do you…” Derek stutters.

 

His own pounding heart drowns out the others’ as the human stares at him.   _Hurry up, make a decision – he asked you a question.  What did he ask?  I can’t remember what he asked._  Sweat beads on the back of his neck as he struggles to remember what the man asked.  It was something about the woman he mentioned.   _He asked if I remembered her._

 

“Yes, I remember her,” he replies.

 

_What if that wasn’t the answer he wanted?  I was honest – will that matter?  I sort of remember her.  What if he asks me to describe her or give details?  I don’t…she was a nurse, her name was Melissa.  I think she was nice…but I don’t know._

 

“Okay, that’s good,” the man says.  Derek lets out a slow breath.  He didn’t fuck it up – yet, at least.  “Is it okay if she comes over?  I don’t really want to leave you two here alone,” he adds.

 

 _Oh god, why is he asking me so many things?  He didn’t give me any rules.  I don’t know how to answer any of this._  His stomach churns as he tries to understand.  This is why he stayed a wolf for the past week.  It was just easier.  Humans left him alone and the other wildlife don’t pester like this.

 

_Think idiot – he asked if it was okay if she came over.  The honest answer would be ‘no’.  But will he be angry if I say that?  It sounds like he wants her to come over.  But what if I’m wrong?  What if this is a test?_

 

Derek glances at the gun strapped to the man’s belt.  He flicks his gaze to his face – he seems to be patiently waiting, but those hunters had been patient as well; waited until he was alone, waited _weeks_ until they attacked.

 

“I-” he starts.  He’s cut-off when a door downstairs opens and quiet feet enter the house.  Derek’s vision flashes as he quickly backs into the corner – away from the humans.

 

“Too late,” the Sheriff grumbles.

 

_Too late.  Does that mean she’s here or does that mean he’s out of patience?  This is bad, isn’t it?_

 

He looks to Stiles, but the boy is still preoccupied.  The window is still barred.  What does he do?  Does he hide somewhere?   _This is their house; they’ll find me wherever I hide._  The father sighs and makes his way downstairs; greeting a woman Derek assumes is Melissa.   _What do I do?_  He could stay in here with Stiles, but the boy doesn’t seem to be in danger and these humans are clearly in his pack.

 

_In his pack – the boy is i **n a pack**.  Why are you trusting him?_

 

Derek makes a quick decision to slip out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the bathroom once again.  He likes this room – it has a lock.  Quickly turning said lock, he backs away from the door towards the far wall.  Voices travel up the stairs as the couple returns.

 

* * *

 

_The couple grins at him, canines showing to intimidate him.  Not much he can do now that they’ve chained him up.  He doesn’t recognize them but then again he hadn’t known his kidnapper either.  The man – Steve, he called himself – lounges by the back wall, watching the Alphas size Derek up._

 

_“Your old pack caused quite an uproar, boy,” the female Alpha says, frowning.  He hasn’t dealt with a pack of more than one Alpha since he was in Beacon Hills.  That seems like such a long time ago.  “What do you suggest we do with him, Esteban?” she asks, turning to her mate.  The man flashes his eyes at Derek, feral grin on his face._

 

_“I’m-I’m not a threat to you,” he says.  “Please…just…”_

 

_“Just what, Omega?  Spit it out,” Esteban snaps._

 

_Derek struggles to come up with a solution.  He’d almost been free, had almost escaped them.  Well, he **had** escaped them…only to be captured by a rival pack.  What does he do?  Survive this new pack or beg to be-_

 

_“Give me back to Keira.  She’ll be grateful.  She’ll give you whatever you want,” he pleads.  Derek had already survived Keira – he could do it again.  But he doesn’t know Esteban or his mate.  What if they’re worse?_

 

_The female Alpha grins and steps closer to him.  She reaches out to pat Derek’s cheek._

 

_“Making Keira happy is the **last** thing we want to do, child.  No, I think we’ll keep you,” she says, chuckling._

 

_“No, please…just let me go,” he begs._

 

_Esteban joins his mate, running a hand down Derek’s chest.  “What Cristina wants, Cristina gets,” he says.  He leans closer, crimson irises mere inches from Derek’s own blue._

 

_“We are **never** letting you go.”_

 

* * *

 

“No, no, no, no,” Derek whispers.

 

No, this wouldn’t be like that.  They were human and as far as he could tell, they weren’t even hunters.  Not believing his own rationality, he spins around in search of a window.  The only opening is a tiny thing above the shower.   _I won’t fit through that._

 

Footsteps stop down the hall and Derek crouches against the wall, wishing he had a more secure hiding place.  He strains to listen.

 

“Thanks for coming, Mel.  I know he’d probably be fine on his own, but with a werewolf in the house, I didn’t want to take any chances.”

 

“I understand.  You know I don’t mind.  Now, tell me exactly what’s happening,” she says.

 

Her voice piques his interest.  It’s definitely familiar.  She’s someone’s mother.  Someone in his old pack – the first time he was an Alpha.  Derek shakes his head, not wanting to think about it.  That was a long time ago.  He’d thought times were bad back then.   _I’d give anything to have the drama of those times again.  Life wasn’t easy, but it sure as hell wasn’t **this**._

 

“Stiles is having a problem with the Nemeton again.”

 

“His darkness, you mean,” she says.

 

“Yeah…that.  You know more about this than I do.  I’ll have you check him over in a minute.  I should warn you-”

 

“That Derek’s back?  Yes, I heard.”

 

At his name, he inches closer to the door, wanting to hear more.  She hadn’t sounded exactly thrilled about his return.    _I can’t blame her.  I fucked up back then…something about her son.  I wonder if he’s still around._

 

“Yeah, he is.  But that’s not…I mean, _he’s_ not…” the man sighs.  “He’s Derek, but at the same time he’s not.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“Something happened to him.  I don’t know what – he won’t talk about it.  Just…we need to be _extremely_ careful around him, okay?”

 

“Like… _patient_ careful?  Or ‘watch what I say, he may rip my throat out careful’?”

 

“Um…both,” the man replies.  They sound afraid almost.   _They should be.  I’m a monster._  Derek sits against the wall, wishing he was smaller, wishing he were invisible.   _I shouldn’t have come here.  Why did my wolf think it was safe here?_

 

_Because of Stiles._

 

Derek tugs his limbs closer, holding in a whine at the thought.  He doesn’t understand why Stiles feels safe, doesn’t understand why the scent of the boy is calming, doesn’t understand _anything_.

 

“Alright,” the woman sighs.  “Bring me to them.”  The bedroom door opens with a squeak and Derek holds his breath to listen.  Stiles had moved to folding and hanging his entire wardrobe while they talked.  “Stage one then,” the woman murmurs.

 

“Shit, where’d he go?”

 

“Derek?  Where’d you leave him?”

 

“In here,” the man grumbles.  He listens as they scramble from the room – Melissa rushes downstairs to search, but stops when the Sheriff calls her back.

 

“I think I know where he went,” he mutters.  The door knob turns, but sticks when the lock stops it.  He squeezes further between the toilet and the wall.   _Will they try to break it down?  They wouldn’t do that, right?_  His chest aches as he forces quiet breaths through his nose.  They’re shallow, but all he can manage as he stares at the door.  Someone knocks on the door, making him jump.   _Do I answer or stay quiet?  What will they do if they find me?_

 

“Derek?” the man calls.

 

He grips tightly to his elbows as tremors rock through his body.   _I’m not gonna fall apart, I can’t afford to fall apart, it’s not safe here._

 

“Derek, are you in there?” he asks.  He knocks on the door again and Derek winces.  Heat pricks at his eyes, but he blinks to keep it back.  “I just wanna know if you’re alright, son,” he says quietly.

 

A tiny sob escapes at the last word and he quickly clamped a hand over his mouth.  He wants to reach into the air, grab that noise, and shove it back in.

 

The Sheriff sighs, but doesn’t try to barge his way in.  “Derek…you’re not hurt, right?  You don’t need medical assistance?” he asks.  Derek’s brows furrow, not understanding.   _Why would he care if I’m hurt?  Why would he want to help me?  Does that mean he’s like Stiles…that I can trust him?_

 

_No, no, it can’t mean that.  It doesn’t make any sense.  I should still answer him.  I don’t want him coming in here._

 

“N-no, I’m not h-hurt,” he stutters.  He loses his breath, but tries to remain quiet.

 

“Alright…well, Melissa will be here if you need anything,” he says.  Derek doesn’t think that requires a response, so he doesn’t give one.  The couple thankfully moves away from the door and back to the bedroom.

 

“Thanks again.  I’ll have my phone if you need me,” the man says.  He can hear the rustle of fabric and the soft thump of bodies colliding – they must be hugging goodbye.  Derek hasn’t willingly let anyone be that close since Cora-

 

“Stop it,” he whispers to himself.

 

He hates thinking about her.  She wasn’t his sister, she was his enemy.  It didn’t matter now anyway.  She was gone, she wasn’t a problem anymore.  The front door eventually clicks shut, leaving the house quiet save for Stiles’ frantic movements down the hall.  Melissa must be passively observing him – like any good nurse or doctor.  Derek pauses at that thought.   _I just described her as good.  That must mean I think she’s safe on some level._

 

Derek slowly relaxes, resting his head on his folded arms.  He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth – just like Stiles showed him last night.  The kid had cared for him all night, had held him as he broke down.  It was strange to find someone willing to do that.  The last time he’d had that was nine months ago, before his only friend died.  He had to watch as hunters cut her in half – as the girl’s own lover tore her apart.  Derek wants to punch irony in the face.

 

He sits there for about an hour, until Stiles’ movements still.  When the boy goes quiet, Derek sits up a bit, worried.

 

“Stiles?  Are you with me?” Melissa asks gently.

 

“I…um, yeah, I think so.  What happened?” he asks.  He sounds tired and nervous – the tangy scent of his mild anxiety wafting under the door.

 

“The darkness took over for a while, but you’re alright.  It wasn’t too bad this time.”

 

“Crap.  How long?”

 

“Only an hour and a half.  Like I said, it wasn’t too bad.  You pulled yourself out quickly this time.”

 

“Yeah, I guess,” he mumbles.  There’s a heavy sigh, followed by a soft thud – Derek assuming he’s flopped onto his bed.  “My dad go to work?” he asks around a yawn.

 

“Yeah, about an hour ago.  Didn’t wanna leave you guys alone.”

 

“Right…” he mumbles.  A few minutes go by before Stiles gasps and his heart starts racing.  “Where is he?  Where’s Derek?” he asks.  The wolf whimpers as the boy gets all worked up.

 

“He’s locked himself in the bathroom.”

 

“When?”

 

“Ever since I got here.  I didn’t think I should bother him,” she replies.  Stiles curses and quick steps rush towards his hiding place.  Derek can hear him take a breath before softly knocking on the door.  He stands on shaky legs, not sure whether to answer or open the door.

 

“Derek, it’s just  me, it’s Stiles,” he says.

 

He shuffles closer, resting his fingertips on the door.   _I should probably just open it._ _He proved last night that I can trust him._ Still, he hesitates.

 

“Dude, I really don’t wanna bust the door open,” Stiles grumbles.  Derek flinches, but finds his hand hovering closer to the lock.  “Please tell me you’re not dying.  Just tell me you’re okay and I’ll leave.”

 

_I don’t want him to leave._

 

On a surge of panic, he twists the lock and swings the door open.  Stiles’ eyes widen, a small soft smile coming to his face.   _It’s okay, he didn’t leave, he’s still here._

 

“Even better,” Stiles says, clearly pleased.  It’s so easy to please him.  “You must be hungry.  Wanna eat dinner with us?” he asks.  A woman hesitantly comes into the hall, uncertainty etched into her face.  Derek takes an involuntary step back.  “Whoa, it’s okay, it’s just Melissa,” Stiles says.  He frowns then and asks, “You remember her, right?”

 

Derek flicks his gaze over her – takes in her wavy dark hair, her soft brown eyes, the gentle set of her mouth, her delicate hands.   _Yes, I remember…she’s someone’s mother…but whom?_

 

“Yes, I remember,” he replies.  He’s not afraid of giving the wrong answer – not with Stiles.  The boy frowns, but it’s more of a confused pout than an upset gesture.

 

“That really wasn’t convincing,” Stiles mumbles.  He shakes his head then and beckons Derek out of the small room.  “Come on.  We should eat dinner.  She’s not so bad, I promise,” he says, a tiny smirk coming to his face.  The woman huffs and shakes her head fondly.

 

“Real nice, kid.  Insult the woman cooking your food,” she says with a snort before prancing down the stairs.  Stiles cringes, but the joy in his eyes is obvious.  Derek is assuming Melissa wouldn’t actually poison their food.

 

_Right?_

 

“Hey, I said _not bad_.  That’s totally a compliment,” Stiles calls to her, gesturing dramatically.

 

The woman’s gentle laughter echoes up to them, making Derek relax further.  The boy looks back to him and nods for him to follow.  As they make their way down, his gaze travels over the photos on the walls.  Most of them are of Stiles and his father – a few with a pretty brunette also.   _His mother maybe?_  Derek never learned what happened to her, but he does remember that she’s not around.

 

When he follows through the living room, he’s surprised at how many photos line the house.  Stiles in his lacrosse jersey, Stiles in his jeep, Stiles blowing out candles on a cake, Stiles with his friends.  Derek pauses in front of a group of pictures that are clearly all his friends – _his pack_ , Derek corrects.  The thought has a knot tightening in his stomach, but he tries to ignore it – wanting to look at more of the boy’s life.

 

He finds the most amusing to be of Stiles sandwiched between twin boys, looking put out and grumpy.  The boy is pouting fiercely as the others laugh and crowd into his space.  As he stares, flashes of the boys wolfed out and growling swarm him.  They had his hands in vice grips as a body was lowered onto –

 

Derek quickly tears his eyes away, not wanting to remember that awful day.

 

“Derek, you coming?” Stiles asks quietly.  He shuffles over, glancing at the photo Derek had been staring at and gently pulls him away.  “Melissa’s making her world famous spaghetti,” he announces as he drags Derek into the kitchen.  He steps into the room and immediately freezes.

 

* * *

 

_“I’m having another picnic, Der-bear.  You remember how fun the last one was, don’t you?” Cora asks, a smirk playing at her lips.  Derek clenches his jaw, knowing that snapping back at her would only get him in trouble.  “This time will be different though.  You’ve proved to be trustful these last few months, so today you’ll be joining the party.”_

 

_Derek looks up, completely surprised.  Maybe he’ll actually get to leave his room this time._

 

_His Alpha grins and tilts her head.  “You’ll be joining as our chef.  Isn’t that fantastic?  I know how much you love to cook, big bro,” she says.  He bites his tongue hard until he tastes copper, so as not to argue with her.  Derek **loathes** cooking, even though he always had a knack for it.  Cora knew this, but it’s not like she gave a shit.  “Got something to say, Derek?” she asks, testing him._

 

_“No, Alpha Cora,” he grits out.  His sister – **no, his Alpha** – grins wider._

 

_“Thought so.  Now, get in the kitchen and prepare the food.  Make it traditional.  No fancy shit,” she says and then sweeps out of the room._

 

_For the next few hours, Derek revels in the hate that courses through him as he flips burgers and mixes potato salad.  As he’s adding more mayonnaise, a ridiculous thought occurs to him.  Scanning the shelves, he finds the tiny vial he stashed in the back of the highest cupboard.  Not one of the wolves in this house can cook, so no one noticed its presence._

 

_Derek stares at the white berries and light green leaves.  He’d found them up in the mountains – before Cora destroyed his entire life for the second time.  Can he really use them?  Can he **really** poison his own sister?_

 

_Flashes of all the Alphas he’s been imprisoned by over the last year and a half blur his vision and he thinks yes – yes he can definitely poison his own rotten sister.  Derek empties the contents and finely chops it all into the extra mayonnaise.  He dumps it in and begins to mix._

 

_“Hey, Der-bear, how’s it going?” Cora asks, stepping into the kitchen.  Derek pauses for a minute, but continues his cooking without responding.  “Oh, potato salad.  Is it like how mom used to make it?” she asks, leaning over to take a whiff._

 

_His heart hammers in his chest as he thinks of his mother.  She would be so disappointed if she knew what he’s done.  Not just about the poison, but about his entire life.  He’s a horrible excuse for a son._

 

_Obviously hearing his distress as it rams against his ribcage, Cora straightens and stares at him.  She carefully takes the bowl and spoon and begins mixing it herself.  His sister – **no, stop calling her that** – smiles sadly at the potato salad._

 

_“Mom loved the Fourth of July.  She’d cook a ridiculous amount of food and set up games in the backyard.  Remember that one year she had sparklers?  Laura almost caught her hair on fire,” she says, laughing a little._

 

_Derek is barely breathing as he watches her reminisce over the potato salad – the **poisoned** potato salad. _

 

_“Do you remember why she loved it?” she asks.  Cora looks up at him, her big brown eyes the lightest he’s ever seen them._

 

_“She said it reminded her of pack, of the old traditions of family.”_

 

_Cora snorts.  “What do you think she’d say now?  You know, if she could see us?”_

 

_His eyes burn and he looks away from her, not knowing how to answer.  Cora leans closer and lowers her voice._

 

_“You wanna know what **I** think she’d say?” she asks.  The drop in octave makes his heart stutter and he risks a glance at her.  The darkness has returned, taking his sister with it – the Alpha returning._

 

_“How could you, Derek?  How could you kill us over some stupid fling with a pretty face and tight pussy?” she asks and then laughs.  Derek turns away from her, cleaning up some spilled mayonnaise._

 

 **_This wasn’t her; this was just the power talking._ ** _Derek sighs at himself.  He could tell himself that all day long, but he knew it wasn’t true.  Cora had grown up to be cold hearted and power hungry – something he blames himself for._

 

_“Aw, Derek…” she croons behind him.  “Did you think we were having a moment?” she asks.  She sighs and adds, “Your life is so sad, Der-bear.  Do you just wait around all day, waiting for me to be your little sister again?” she asks.  Heat passes over him as she crowds against his back, the potato salad in one hand, the bowl leaning against her hip.  “You should really give up,” she whispers.  “That girl died when you let that bitch burn our life to the ground.”_

 

_As she walks away with another laugh, Derek closes his eyes, praying for the shaking in his hands to stop.  He killed her long ago, didn’t he?  The thing he lives with now isn’t his sister and it never was._

 

_So yes, that herb will give the potato salad a nice zesty taste._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Melissa in the next chapter (in Stiles' POV). I hope you liked her intro. Also finally wrote a flashback with Cora - I made her so evil and I am sorry.


	9. Melissa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek gets to know a pack mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picking up where we left off and also dinner with Melissa because she is awesome and deserves to be written about.

**Stiles**

 

“Stiles, get him into the chair,” Melissa instructs.

 

Derek had zoned out completely, gripping Stiles’ hand like a lifeline as he swayed on his feet.  She rushes over and they gently guide the man to one of the wooden chairs at the table.  He complies easily, his legs bending as he sits.

 

“Does this happen often?” she asks.

 

Stiles winces at the bone crushing grip Derek has on him, but doesn’t try to pull away.  No, he’d like to keep all his fingers, thanks.

 

“He’s spaced out several times, but this has only happened once.  He, uh, kind of became violent the first time,” he stutters.  Melissa’s hands immediately retract from the wolf’s shoulders and she takes a step back.

 

“I’m guessing that’s why your neck is dark red?” she asks.

 

Stiles probes the sensitive skin with a wince and nods at her.  They’re both distracted by Derek’s lips moving.  He started doing that a few minutes ago – staring off into space and muttering with no sound coming out.  It was freaking him the fuck out.

 

“Alright, well what happened then?  Did he just come out of it on his own or did you do something?”

 

“My dad actually brought him out of it.  I could try doing what he did,” he mumbles.

 

Without waiting for a response, Stiles kneels in front of Derek.  He grimaces when he looks at the tips of fingers as they turn a dark red as well.

 

“Derek, you’re safe.  You’re with Melissa and me – uh, Stiles – and you’re in our house – or, the Stilinski house that is,” he says, wincing at his botched version.

 

He fumbles through it for another 5 minutes and doesn’t stop until Derek’s fingers spasm around his own.  Stiles holds in a yelp, but retains eye contact, hoping he’s almost through it.  There’s no blinking right away this time, but a gradual realization that Stiles can almost see Derek going through in his mind.  The wolf finally – thankfully – releases his hand and he quickly takes it out of reach.  He flexes his hand, but also hides it from Derek’s view – not wanting to set off another round of uncontrollable apologizing.

 

“Do you know where you are?” Stiles asks, having remembered his dad’s approach.  Derek slowly nods, eyes not leaving Stiles’ face.

 

“Here, water will help,” Melissa says, holding out a glass.

 

Derek’s brow furrows and he shifts away from her slightly.  Stiles quickly takes the glass and nudges her back a few steps.

 

“Come on, man.  This helped before, right?” he asks gently.

 

The man nods warily and takes the glass.  Stiles notices he isn’t shaking as bad this time and wonders if that’s good or bad.  He even downs the whole glass before placing it carefully on the table.  Stiles doesn’t realize he’s staring until Derek frowns at him.

 

“Are we eating or not?” he asks.

 

His tone has a chill running up his spine and Stiles quickly nods before backing out of his space.  Melissa is quiet as she dishes out spaghetti and passes around silverware.  They throw each other worried glances, neither knowing how to approach the man – nor if they even should.  This wasn’t how Derek reacted the last time and Stiles is confused.  The wolf’s movements are steady, but quick – almost angry.  Besides that hallucinated attack from earlier, Stiles hasn’t seen him angry since he’s been back.  It’s not even the same as when he knew him 2 years ago.  Derek growled and flashed his eyes back then.

 

Not this Derek.  This Derek had a quiet fury that made Stiles want to hide under the table.

 

Melissa placed a salad in the middle and Derek didn’t even hesitate to scoop some onto his plate.  A pleased smile came to the woman’s face as the wolf practically inhaled his dinner.  Stiles tried for a smile as well, but thinks it came out more of a grimace.  This was just uncomfortable as fuck.  He didn’t know if he should talk to Derek or not – or hell, talk at all.  It was silent save for Derek crunching his lettuce and their forks scraping up spaghetti.

 

The tension was making him more tired than he already was.  He was still drained from his earlier episode.  As usual, he remembers nothing from it, but he saw the disaster he made of his room.  Stiles sighs just thinking about having to clean it – again.

 

“So, you’ll never guess who called the other day,” Melissa begins.  Her voice soothes some of the stillness, but only slightly.

 

“Obama,” Stiles guesses around a mouthful of spaghetti.

 

“I wish, but no.  It was my no good ex – Scott’s father,” she says, stabbing a stubborn piece of lettuce.

 

“Shit,” Stiles mutters.

 

“Shit, indeed,” she replies, making him snort.  His father would have reprimanded him for his foul language, but Melissa gave up on that a long time ago.

 

“What did he want?”

 

“To talk to Scott,” she says.  Stiles waits for more, his leg bouncing.

 

“And?” he finally bursts.

 

“And I told that asshole to fuck off,” she says.

 

She follows it with a satisfying crunch of leafy green.  Stiles nods, completely impressed.  Scott’s father - _Agent McCall_ \- had stormed back into his life two years ago, saying he wanted to reconcile.  He predictably only ended up fucking everything up and hurting the both of them again.

 

“As you should have,” he says, pointing with his fork for emphasis.

 

Melissa nods sharply before her eyes snap away from him, something having her pausing.  She kicks his shin gently and tilts her head to his right.  Stiles looks over, finding Derek having practically deflated just like before.  He’s not relaxed by any means – still tense – but his movements have returned to the nervous, but careful rhythm.

 

“How’s the dinner, Derek?” Melissa asks.  “Everything taste alright?”

 

Derek tries to cover a flinch by taking another mouthful.  His leg is bouncing up and down under the table, sliding against Stiles’ every now and then.  His eyes shift nervously from his plate, to Melissa, and back to his plate.

 

“Yes, it’s good,” he mutters.

 

If Stiles hadn’t been watching carefully, he would have missed how the man held his breath after the words were out.  He kept his eyes glued to his plate, but the leg against his never stopped moving.

 

“Good.  I’m glad you like it.  I never get to cook for anyone anymore.  Scott’s never home and it’s too much trouble to cook for just one.  It was nice to feel useful again, so thanks for being here, Derek,” she says.

 

Stiles hates the loneliness he hears in her voice.  Now that Scott’s in college, working full-time with Deaton, and dating Allison again, he’s doesn’t have much time to just hang out with his mom.  Stiles knows it’s just how life goes, but he wishes Melissa had someone.  He thought for a while that maybe she’d make his dad happy and vice versa, but his dad is still in love with his mother – which Stiles can’t blame him for.  The man even still wears his wedding ring after all these years.

 

Stiles shook himself out of his head long enough to catch the surprised look Derek throws Melissa.  She gives him a soft smile before getting up to clear the table.  His pretty eyes – _dammit, I just called his eyes pretty, snap out of it Stiles_ – are all wide and vulnerable for a minute before quickly reverting to staring at his empty plate.

 

“Still hungry?” he asks, nudging the knee that’s still bouncing.  Stiles is pleased to note the man doesn’t flinch away and actually nods in answer.  “Eat up, man.  She cooked like 4 boxes,” he says.  “We’re gonna be having left overs for _days_ ,” he mock complains.  Melissa swats him with a towel.

 

“I was cooking for a werewolf and _you_ – who eats about twice as much as any of the wolves, so sue me,” she says with a laugh.

 

Stiles snorts, shaking his head at her.  She fills up a plate to wrap up for his dad and leaves it in the microwave.

 

“Now, if I forget later, you make _sure_ your father eats the rest of this salad.  And I _do_ mean the rest of it,” she says, shoving the bowl under his nose so he can see.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, saluting her.

 

“Whoa, I am no one’s ma’am.  I am way too young for that, thank you very much.”

 

“My apologies, young lady,” he says with a short bow.

 

“Apologies accepted, good sir,” she says with a fake curtsey.

 

They both chuckle at each other as she loads the dishwasher.  Stiles honestly loves having her around.  She reminded him so much of his mother.

 

Stiles’ laughter slowly died as the thought plus the exhaustion from earlier takes over.  Melissa knowingly runs her hand through his hair, before placing a kiss on his head.

 

“You should go to sleep, kid.  I cleared off your bed while you were talking with Derek.  Go on.  I’m sure Derek and I can handle the dishes.  Right, Derek?” she asks cheerily.  The man tilts his head at her, but surprises them both by calmly nodding in agreement.

 

“You sure?” Stiles mumbles, knocking knees again.

 

Derek nudges him back and then gives another nod.  Stiles takes a moment to look him over and decides the wolf _probably_ won’t maim her, so he gives in.

 

“Alright then.  You can come up whenever you get tired, or take the couch.  Whichever you prefer, okay?” he asks as he gets to his feet.

 

Too tired to wait for an answer, Stiles pats his shoulder and trudges up the stairs.  He belatedly realizes Derek once again didn’t flinch at his touch.

 

Stiles smiles before flopping onto his mattress.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> Sheriff POV next


	10. Redwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sheriff begins investigating a new case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I have most of the story mapped out, I figured I should add new tags.
> 
> Enjoy :)

**Sheriff**

 

The pounding behind his eyes only increases the longer he stares at the screen, typing and typing.  It’s the only thing he’s been doing the past few days and he wants to throw the goddamn computer out the window.  Not only does he hate having to type up every report after having already written it all by hand, their computers were _wildly_ out of date.

 

John sighs, the sound of his own fingers clicking away on the keyboard grating on his nerves.

 

Someone knocks on his door.

 

“What?” he snaps.

 

Deputy Graeme pokes her head in, making him frown.  He likes her just as much as - if not more than - all of his deputies, but if she gives him anymore paperwork, he’s gonna-

 

“What is that?” he asks warily, pointing at the filled-to-bursting manila folder in her hand.  “Don’t give that to me.  Don’t bring that over here.  Stop walking.  Tara, I mean it, don’t put that on my desk, don’t...damn it,” he grumbles.

 

Tara is barely containing her laugh, taking a breath to compose herself.

 

“Sorry, sir, but they said this one was only for you.”

 

“Who said?  What are you talking about?  If this is Haigh thinking he’s being funny again, you can tell him he’s fired for real this time.”

 

“No, sir, it’s not Haigh.  Two staties dropped it off this morning - said it was for your eyes only until you got a handle on the case.  Whenever that happens by the way, you know you can count on me, Sheriff.”

 

John scowls good naturedly.  “Don’t you have reports to do?”

 

“Always, sir, always,” she says with a sigh.

 

Tara gives a small nod before leaving his office, shoulders slumped as she makes her way back to her desk.  Glancing at his daunting screen, he can understand the reluctance.  Frowning, he swivels away from the computer to pour through the new case file.  It was rare for state detectives to hand anything off to a county Sheriff.  Flipping to the inside cover, he sees that whatever this is, is already a big case that’s being kept quiet.

 

On the inside cover, there’s a list of other counties and police officers already working the case, with a note on the bottom that says to contact each other if there’s a break.  John has never heard of this happening.  Usually everyone’s requested to stay within their own jurisdiction, but this is giving explicit permission to act otherwise.

 

His brain is trying to calculate what could be as big as this - surely terrorism, serial killers, serial rapists, all of the above even (like organized crime maybe).  Taking a breath, he starts scanning through all the papers and photos - _oh god the photos._  All dead bodies, every single one of them.  The detectives have linked a string of murders covering a 200 mile radius, following the Redwood Highway.

 

They’ve nicknamed him/her/it/them either ‘The Redwood Killer’ or the ‘Friend Seeker’.

 

John shakes his head and lets out a heavy sigh.  This killer or killers have supposedly murdered over a hundred people, possibly more.  It’s unbelievable.  He sorts through the photos, all the images and crime scenes mostly the same.  The victims’ were all shredded by what the detectives think were multiple sharp knives - hence the group theory.

 

Several witnesses report that the killer stalked them a few hours prior the murder.  They say it was only one person - a man - but the detectives are still unconvinced one person could cause such turmoil.  Some witnesses claim the man acted more like an animal than a human, slashing with his knives frantically as if he were out of control.  Others report the man was in complete control and only became violent after asking the question ‘Will you be my friend’.  It didn’t seem to matter what they gave as an answer, he would simply either slash the victim’s throat with a knife or on a few occasions, rip it out with his teeth.

 

Not one of them can give an accurate description of his face or body. None of these witnesses were the actual targets, but people who had either hidden when they saw the crime going down, or bystanders too far away to make out details.

 

John sits back, fingers steepled as he lets the folder fall closed.  All of these murders happened about a year and a half ago, during the early summer.  It was all committed during a two month time span, as if the killer was either in a frenzy or running out of time.  After June, however, they simply stopped.  There were no more shredded bodies or witnesses reporting run-ins with the ‘Friend Seeker’.

 

He has no idea what to make of it other than he’s never seen anything like it.  The violence and destruction he hasn’t seen, but the wounds on the victims...he’s seen it before, but he just can’t place it.  He’ll bring it the ME tomorrow morning.  If she can’t determine the weapon or any other details, he’ll take a trip to Deaton’s.  John isn’t completely positive this killer is human.  Nothing is ever human anymore.

 

Rubbing his eyes, he shakes it off along with switching off his computer.  He shoves the file into his rarely used briefcase, grabs his jacket and keys, and heads out the door.

 

“Let’s call it a night, guys. The paperwork will still be there in the morning,” he says to his deputies.  They call out various goodbyes before he leaves.  The drive home isn’t as relaxing as he was hoping for.  Not with that heavy case file sitting in the passenger’s seat.

 

Stepping into the house, he takes a deep inhale, the aroma of Melissa’s special spaghetti sauce filling the air.  John throws his jacket onto the couch before cautiously entering the kitchen.  In all honesty he would have run straight to the fridge if he didn’t know there was still a skittish werewolf lurking around.

 

The sight that greets him makes his brows raise, a small smile following it.  Melissa is at the sink finishing washing what looks to be the last dish and handing it to Derek to dry.  The man takes it slowly, eyes glancing at Melissa’s face every few seconds, as if waiting for her to snap about something.  They must have been at it for a while though, given the stack of dry dishes on the counter.  He leans against the wall, not wanting to disturb the scene.

 

“Okay, now we just need to put them in their right places.  Would you like to keep helping or go to sleep?” she asks.

 

Derek makes the same pained expression he did earlier that day when John had clearly asked him too many questions.  The wolf watches Melissa wash out the sponge, drain the sink, and dry her hands on a towel.  She never once looks at him, which apparently helps.

 

“I’ll help,” he says, barely above a whisper.

 

It saddens John to see the boy like this.  He didn’t know him very well as an adult, but he had never been this frightened or soft-spoken.  At least not in the interrogation room.  John grimaces at the memory.  He grilled the kid for hours, but Derek only sat quietly giving yes or no answers, trying to hide his shaking hands the entire time.  Then there was the brief interaction he had with Derek as a teenager, just after the fire.  It was devastating to watch how the boy’s older sister broke down and clung to him, begging for him to fix it, to make the pain stop.  Derek had simply held her tight, his own tears silently spilling down his cheeks.

 

John clears his throat both to shake the memories and announce his presence.  Derek instantly freezes, back going rigid with tension.

 

“It’s just me - John,” he mutters.

 

“Hey, how was work?” Melissa asks.

 

She continues about the kitchen, pretending not to notice Derek’s posture.  The Sheriff follows her lead and walks to the fridge, taking out the leftovers.

 

“It was fine.  Lots of paperwork,” he says.  He doesn’t get into the new case, not wanting to alarm either of them.

 

“Jonathan Stilinski, don’t you dare ignore that salad,” Melissa teases.

 

He sighs, but grabs the bowl of greens.  For years, he’s been conflicted about her.  Was she a friend, his mother, a potential romance?  She didn’t seem to fit in any and all at the same time.  It was confusing, but not in a bad way.  Maybe intriguing is the right word.

 

As he waits for the microwave to warm the pasta, he crosses over to the wooden cabinet, reaching for the half-empty bottle of whisky.  Melissa’s instant sigh grates on his nerves and he turns to her with a tight smile.

 

“It’s just one.  Long day and all that.”

 

“I didn’t say anything,” she says, turning to put a plate away.  These are the most confusing moments, when she ‘mothers’ him.

 

Derek had eventually started helping her again, but now that his hands are empty, he doesn’t seem to know what to do.  The kid leans against the counter, hands shoved into the pockets of his - or Stiles’ rather - sweatpants.  John brings the glass to his lips, the ice clinking loudly in the silence.  Derek’s right brow twitches harshly at the sound, eyes glancing at him briefly, before returning to the floor.  He does it a few more times, eyes shifting from John’s face, to the glass, to the bottle.  The Sheriff can’t tell if it’s making him nervous or if he wants a drink.

 

He considers offering him one, but then imagines Melissa’s disapproving face and keeps quiet.  John really does like having her around, it’s just been a really long day.

 

The microwave beeps obnoxiously, startling Derek badly.  He hastily backs away into the nearest corner, eyes still trained on the floor.  John slowly sets his drink down and cautiously approaches him.

 

“Derek, everything’s alright, it was only the microwave,” he says soothingly.

 

He almost reaches out, but then remembers the boy doesn’t like to be touched.  John remembers how he shied away from them even before any of this.  He had patted him roughly on the shoulder during that interrogation, being surprised when the boy had flinched at it.  Of course, he’d tried to cover it with the hardest glare John has seen to date.

 

“Do you wanna go up to Stiles now?” Melissa asks.

 

John’s first instinct is to protest, fear for his son rising up, but he squashes it down.  Forbidding that would probably only set Derek off and he more than anything doesn’t want that.  The kid needs help and that’s what John intends to give.

 

Derek gives a timid nod.

 

“Okay, that’s alright, you can go up,” John says.  The boy doesn’t waste time in escaping the kitchen, quickly backing into the living room, and taking the stairs three at a time.

 

John sighs for the millionth time today.  Grabbing his plate and drink, he slumps onto a chair.  Melissa sits with him and heaps a pile of lettuce onto his plate.  He playfully eats one right out of her hand and starts crunching obnoxiously.  It’s not often he’s like this with her, the guilt usually rising up, but he’s tired and has downed a strong drink.  He’ll blame it on the whisky.

 

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, him twirling spaghetti and her drinking a cup of hot tea.

 

“So, what do you think?” he asks.

 

“Of what?  Derek?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Melissa sighs, shaking her head to herself.

 

“I can’t imagine what that boy has been through.  I never got the chance to meet him back then, but from what Scott always told me...the kid I met today was nothing like he was 2 years ago.”

 

John nods in agreement.  “Did he give any details about what happened?”

 

“No, he barely said a word.  All I know is that he doesn’t like to be touched, has extreme anxiety, vivid flashbacks that can cause him to be violent, and he just revealed a fear of either loud or high pitched noises.  I have no idea what happened, but it’s similar to what I’ve seen in both soldiers of war and long-time abuse victims.”

 

“Do you think we can help him?”

 

“We won’t know anything for sure until Marin examines him.  After that, who knows,” she says with a shrug.

 

John thinks about it for a few minutes and convinces himself.

 

“Stiles can do it.  Help him, I mean,” he says, nodding mostly to himself.  Melissa gives a small genuine smile.

 

“I think they can help each other.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek POV next.
> 
> Any and all comments are welcome :)


	11. Basement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The door at the top of the stairs whips open. Light spills down into the dark room, burning his deprived retinas. Derek turns onto his side as silently as possible, trying to appear asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place right after the last scene, after Derek had fled the kitchen. Please read the warnings below.
> 
> Warning: Flashback, Graphic Depiction of Rape, mention of past Derek/Kate (brief)
> 
> If you want to know more about the warnings for this chapter before continuing, I have explained more in the end notes.

**Derek**

 

Slipping inside the bedroom, he closes the door quietly and leans against it.  He stays silent and doesn’t reach for the light, though he’s dying to.  He doesn’t know how Stiles will react if rudely woken.

 

Derek hastily holds his breath, fear that even his breathing is too loud.

 

**_I can’t wake him, don’t wake him, be quiet._ **

 

_Derek keeps his breathing quiet and even, not letting his racing heart affect it.  He closes his eyes to try to squelch the panic, knowing his beating heart will-_

 

_The door at the top of the stairs whips open.  Light spills down into the dark room, burning his deprived retinas.  Derek turns onto his side as silently as possible, trying to appear asleep.  He knows it’s a longshot, knows that it never works, that-_

 

_A hot hand gently lands on his shoulder before travelling down his side, stopping in the curve of his waist._

 

_“You sound so afraid, sweetheart,” Dante says._

 

“Derek?”

 

_The pet name has taken on even worse memories, almost drowning out the ones Kate had made._

 

_The man’s hand slithers around to his front, fingers splaying out against his abdomen.  The bed springs squeak as Dante leans forward to whisper in his ear._

 

_“I hate that you’re so afraid of me.  You know I only want the best for you.  If you would only behave, I could let you out of here, let you join the rest of us upstairs.”_

 

_His fingers began tracing patterns against his stomach, dancing closer and closer to his waistband.  Weak, but not forgotten, anger rises up in him bringing heat to his skin.  Dante leans more heavily against him._

 

_“Are you going to be a good boy for me?”_

 

“Derek, you’re safe.”

 

_Yet another pet name from Kate that this man has taken to all new levels.  When the fingers breach his waistband, Derek’s vision turns red.  He flips over, letting out a loud roar, fangs flashing down.  Reaching out his claws, he tries to dig them in, tries to scratch him bloody._

 

_The Alpha sighs, grabs his wrists, and easily restrains him.  He has no trouble flipping Derek back onto his stomach, hands still grasping his wrists, arms wrapped around him tightly.  Dante maneuvers both wrists into one hand and pulls the free one out from beneath him._

 

_Derek fights harder when he hears the tell-tale clicking of a zipper being pulled down._

 

_“Baby, you know I love you, just let me love you.”_

 

_The sob that punches out of him is more because of the words than the situation.  Ever since the fire, that’s all he’d wanted to hear.  Laura could never say it, not after-_

 

_That hot hand squeezes a cheek.  Derek struggles again, but it’s useless._

 

_“You have no idea what you do to me,” Dante rasps against the back of his neck._

 

“You’re with me, you’re with Stiles.”

 

_Dante traces his thumb over his hole, making him jump._

 

_“You’re always so sensitive,” he whispers._

 

_The next sob comes when the man’s wet head presses against his hole.  He almost speaks, almost begs for Dante not to do this, that Derek will never leave, will love him forever if he just doesn’t force-_

 

_“Don’t tense up, sweetie.  I don’t wanna hurt you.”_

 

“Derek, come back to me, come on.”

 

_The urge to beg instantly vanishes, replaced by an anger so fierce he manages to get a wrist free.  Dante shoves his face into the mattress in retaliation._

 

_“Derek, why do you make me do this?  Why?  I don’t like to silence you like this.  You know how I feel about all the beautiful sounds you make.”_

 

_Whipping his free hand back, he tries to catch him - any part of him - with his claws.  He connects with soft skin and **drags**.  Dante grunts._

 

_A scream rips out of him as the man pushes all the way in with one hard and fast thrust, bottoming out inside of him.  The begging he thought of earlier spills from his mouth, Dante no longer pushing his face down, so he can hear it._

 

_“That’s it, that’s my good boy.”_

 

“Derek, please, you’re safe, I promise.”

 

_As Dante satisfies himself, Derek slowly goes quiet, silent tears soaking into the sheets._

 

They continue to flow down his cheeks, but they start dripping off his chin instead.

 

“You’re with me, you’re with Stiles.”

 

Derek’s eyelids flutter, not understanding what’s happening.  It’s no longer dark, there are no concrete walls around him, no rough sheet against his cheek, no one pushing into him over and over-

 

He chokes on his next inhale, a cry sticking in his throat.

 

“Derek?”

 

He looks to where the voice is coming from, finding familiar amber brown eyes.  His breath comes fast and shallow, chest heaving when he can’t get enough air.

 

“Hey, everything’s okay, you’re okay now.”

 

Stiles’ voice sounds clogged and when Derek glances at him, his eyes are suspiciously bright.  The boy is standing a few feet away, body shaking like he needs to move, but isn’t sure if he should.  There’s so much concern on his face, that Derek is a little shocked.  His presence and demeanor helps steady him.  He continues to stare, eyes raking over every inch of him, watching every small move he makes.

 

“Do you know where you are?” he asks.

 

Derek doesn’t dare take his eyes from the boy, fearing he’ll see the basement.  Just the thought of it has more sweat beading down his neck.

 

“Hey, you with me?” Stiles asks

 

That’s an easier question. Yes, he knows Stiles is here, that he is real.  Whether he’s still in the basement or not, he’s unsure of.  Derek nods as way of answering.  The boy let’s out a shaky breath, nodding in return.

 

“Okay,” he mutters, tongue darting out along his lips.  It’s a nervous tick Derek remembers, images of that mouth flashing through his mind.  “Can I come closer?” he asks.

 

Derek even surprises _himself_ with how quickly he nods.  Stiles instantly takes a step forward, still a few inches away.

 

“Can I touch you?” he asks quietly.

 

He cringes after he says it, like he has every time.  That alone convinces Derek again that he doesn’t mean it in the way so many others-

 

Stopping that thought before it goes anywhere, he reaches out, grabs a hold of Stiles’ shirt and pulls.  Stiles makes a small surprised sound, but stumbles forward, not fighting at all.  Derek buries his face in his neck, breathing deeply, taking in his scent.  He smells of grape jelly of all things with an underlying aroma of kiwi.  It’s a strange mix - one he’s never found before.  It covers up the strong cologne the memory had brought on, the one Dante-

 

Slightly cold fingers tentatively brush through his hair.  They stay like that for awhile - long enough to hear the front door close when Melissa leaves, to hear the Sheriff trudging up the stairs to his own room, to hear the slowing beat of his heart as he falls asleep.  All the while Stiles never stops carding his fingers through Derek’s hair.

 

It’s a comfort Derek never realized he missed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you still enjoyed this chapter even with how dark it was. Stiles POV next.
> 
> Warnings mentioned in beginning notes:  
> This chapter details a rape in one of Derek's flashbacks by one of the Alpha's he was imprisoned by. I won't give details here, but just know that the scene describes his inner thoughts, what the rapist says and does during the assault, and his dire surroundings. Feel free to skip this chapter if you are not comfortable reading it.
> 
> Any and all comments are welcome.


	12. Dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Safe? Stiles he just tried to kill you. Do you not understand how serious that is?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Nightmares (not detailed)

**Stiles**

 

Lying on his side in the dark, he watches Derek fall into a fitful sleep.  After calming him down, they climbed under the sheets, the wolf keeping a space between them.  Stiles doesn’t know anything about the flashback he was trapped in.  He hadn’t spoken to invisible enemies this time.

 

Stiles had woken the moment the door opened, paranoia convincing him someone had broken in.  He saw how Derek tried to be still and silent, pressed up against the door as if it could protect him.  Stiles didn’t know anything was wrong until the quiet whimpers began.  He quickly got up and tried to bring him back, but it took much longer this time.  When silent tears began, Stiles almost broke down, almost reached out to touch him, embrace him. He was shocked when the man pulled him into his arms, scenting him frantically.

 

He takes a moment to let his eyes roam over the wolf’s open face.  The moonlight peeking around the edges of the curtains has painted a stripe across the bed and their bodies.  Stiles gazes for longer than probably appropriate.  When he feels like he’s getting creepy, he rolls over onto his other side.  It doesn’t take long for his lids to start drooping.

 

He was dreaming about a forest made of lollipops when he was once again woken.  A loud noise had him jerking awake, cursing under his breath as his heart jolts violently.  It takes him longer than it should to realize what the noise is.

 

Derek is screaming.

 

Quickly sitting up and turning to him, Stiles’ eyes widen at what he sees.  The man’s skin is rippling, the shift clearly trying to take him over.  His claws are deeply imbedded into the mattress, ripping deep holes into the bedding.  Stiles couldn’t care less about the sudden demise of his bed if he’s being honest.  He just wants the awful screaming to stop.  The tone of it keeps wavering between terrified and enraged.

 

Stiles reaches out, hands landing gently on his shoulders.  He calls his name and shakes him a bit, desperately trying to wake him up.  When Derek’s eyes open, he has a split moment to compare his irises to glaciers, before he’s being flipped onto his back.  The wolf is crouched over him, bright eyes boring into him.

 

All the times back in high school (and a few times in the past two years) when he imagined Derek on top of him, he didn’t exactly picture it like this.  A strong hand is pressing him down into the tattered mattress, claws scraping at the base of his throat.  Derek’s fangs are mere inches from his face, hot breath wafting over him.  He’s vibrating on top of him, a steady rumble emanating from his chest.

 

“Derek, don’t do this,” he whispers.

 

“Don’t do what, human?” he growls.

 

Stiles is shocked that he even answered, that he’s talking to him at all.  It must mean he’s not completely trapped in whatever nightmare or flashback that’d pulled him under.

 

“Hey, it’s me, Stiles.  I know you don’t wanna hurt me,” he says.

 

He prays the wolf couldn’t hear the uncertainty in his words.  The grin that spreads across his face is downright terrifying.

 

“And why wouldn’t I want to do that?” he asks quietly, that growl still vibrating through his every word.  “You’re small and vulnerable.  It would be easy to rip your throat out.”

 

“You’re not that person.  You’re not a monster.”

 

“Are you sure about that?”

 

“Yes,” he says, cursing the way his voice refuses to stay steady.

 

He doesn’t understand why he keeps freezing in these situations.  He’s mastered his skills enough that he could easily throw Derek off of him.  Everytime he thinks of lifting his hand to do just that, he remembers Derek’s uncontrolled apologies, the way he curled up in the corner, the way he completely withdrew from everyone and everything around him.  Stiles doesn’t want to be the reason he reverts back to that.

 

When the claws dig more firmly into the skin, Stiles is sure his sympathy is what’s going to get him killed.

 

“Will you be my-”

 

Derek’s question is cut off when the bedroom door crashes open.  He turns to the intruder with a loud roar, fangs shining in the dim light from the hallway.  The volume is loud enough that there’s no way the pack didn’t hear it.

 

“Derek-” his father starts.

 

He’s cut off by another roar and the claws draw small beads of blood.  A soft shot goes off and Derek jerks before falling off the bed.  Now that he’s not looming over him, Stiles pulls himself together, quickly reaching for the emergency bag he keeps in his night stand.  He pulls it open, grabs a handful, and throws the ash into a circle around Derek.  The man is panting harshly, body trying to fight the sedative the dart pumped into his system.  Stiles turns to his dad, seeing him lower the gun onto the desk before coming more fully into the room.

 

“I knew this was a bad idea,” he mutters.

 

Stiles only sighs in answer, watching as the wolf reverts back to human form as the sedative drags him under.

 

“We need to call Marin,” his dad says.

 

Glancing at the clock that still only reads 2:30 in the morning, Stiles shakes his head.

 

“Let’s just let him sleep it off.  He can’t get out of the circle, so we’ll be safe.”

 

“Safe?  Stiles he just tried to _kill_ you.  Do you not understand how serious that is?”

 

“Of _course_ I understand how serious it is!  I get it, okay?  He’s fucked up and dangerous.  That doesn’t mean we’re gonna give up on him.  I can’t.   _We_ can’t,” he says firmly.  “He needs us right now.”

 

“Stiles, I’m not disagreeing, I’m just saying I think we should let Marin examine-”

 

“So another person - probably a complete _stranger_ to him - can poke and prod at him?  Can use his mind and body for their own needs?”

 

The Sheriff sighs and looks to the ceiling in frustration.

 

“Fine,” he grumbles.  “We’ll let him sleep it off and then I’ll call Marin in the morning.”

 

“After breakfast,” Stiles orders.

 

“After breakfast,” he agrees reluctantly.

 

His father shuffles back out of the room, leaving his dart gun with Stiles, just in case the wolf needs to be sedated again.  Stiles crawls from his bed, dragging his pillows and blankets with him to the floor.  He lies down next to the ash circle, making sure not to disturb any of it.

 

Derek is still twitching restlessly in his sleep.  Stiles watches him in concern, wishing he could do something to help.

 

When he manages to fall asleep again, the lollipops have morphed into licorice as they chase him, trying to wrap him in their tight grips.  Stiles runs and runs, but never gets anywhere.

 

A long, lonely howl drifts through the demented forest, guiding him to safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Any and all comments are welcome :)


	13. Magnetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sheriff prepares breakfast and Marin comes for a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates may come slower after this, but I am still working on this story as well as the others.

**Sheriff**

 

As he pours himself an extra-large cup of coffee, he can’t control the images of last night from replaying in his head.  Derek shifted and crouched over his son, claws mere seconds from tearing into his throat.  He hadn’t been that terrified of losing him in years - not since he learned of all this the night Stiles and Aiden got into a fight and the boy shifted, trying to attack all of them.  John hadn’t been afraid for _himself_ , he’d been afraid for his son - afraid that he’d been such an absent parent that Stiles felt the need to hide all of this from him, afraid that he’d failed his wife by not protecting their little boy, afraid that if he died his son would be left all alone.

 

But they hadn’t died and Stiles stopped hiding things from him.  Now he’s worried that Derek’s return will bring all of that back.  After all, who knows if the people that hurt him are still after him?

 

With a heavy sigh, he glances at the wooden cabinet again.  Before he can talk himself out of it, he reaches out for the bottle and pours a small amount into his coffee.  It’s just to help him relax.  One drink a day isn’t going to hurt him.  As he brings it to his lips, his son’s reprimanding voice echoes in his head - telling him all the reasons why he shouldn’t be drinking this and how it’s gonna kill him someday.

 

Well, today isn’t that day.

 

John continues on to pull out a box of frozen waffles and pops them into the toaster.  Staring at them, he wonders if their house guest would prefer pancakes instead.  He takes those out as well, reading the instructions on the back of the box.  Shoving them into the microwave, he carefully navigates his way around the complicated buttons.  Cooking has never been his forte.  As cliché as it was, his wife had been the one cooking all of their meals.  Claudia had never minded, however.  She loved being in the kitchen, throwing the windows wide open in the summer and humming to herself as she prepared everything from homemade cherry pie to lamb stew.

 

A sharp and all too familiar ache courses through his chest.

 

The Sheriff distracts himself by staring into the fridge once again.  He thinks Derek had eaten what Stiles made the other day.  John glances at the eggs and then at the stove.  It couldn’t be _that_ hard.  He’s watched Stiles scramble and fry them up like it was his second nature.

 

Taking out the carton, he flips open the lid and pulls out a bowl.  John knows from experience that slamming the egg against the rim is a very bad idea.  He tries gentle taps instead, watching as the shell spider webs with cracks.

 

It still isn’t as easy as it looks.  Bits of the shell end up in the bowl and he tries to scrape them all out, but he can’t really tell if he got it all.

 

Six eggs into the bowl, he searches around for that whisk thing Stiles is always using.  Not being able to find it, he takes out a fork, figuring it couldn’t be that different.  Swirling the prongs through the yolk and whites, he nods to himself as it comes together.

 

Stove on and eggs in a pan, he watches it carefully.  Stiles never leaves it for long before moving it around with a spatula, but he can’t seem to find that either.  The fact that he’s having trouble even locating all the tools in his own goddamn kitchen is ridiculous.  John decides to use the fork again, swishing and scraping at the eggs.

 

The toaster dings and he quickly pops some more in, letting the others rest on a plate.  The microwave is next and he switches those out for more as well.  He gets to setting the table - plates, utensils, napkins, pepper (no salt because Stiles keeps throwing it out), maple syrup, butter.  The works, basically.

 

He returns to his mug of almost Irish coffee, proud of himself for having done something useful.  John has never let go of the guilt that formed when Stiles, at the age of 9, completely took over the house chores because his father couldn’t handle it.  It wasn’t until John learned that at 12 years old, Stiles was writing checks to pay the bills.

 

He sighs again, glaring into his mug.  They’ve come a long way since then, but that doesn’t mean either of them has forgotten.

 

Eventually, his nose scrunches as a strong odor reaches him-

 

“Shit.”

 

Rushing to the stove, he quickly takes the pan off the burner and quickly scrapes the eggs onto a plate.  They’re not too burnt, only brown in some places.  The waffles, however, got a bit darker than their meant to be.  At least the pancakes came out alright, if a bit mushy from having been in the freezer.

 

John places everything on the table, nodding triumphantly to himself.  Nothing terrible happened, nothing caught fire.  Job well done in his opinion.

 

Glancing at his watch, he quietly heads upstairs to check on them.  He’s not surprised to see his son on the floor, star fishing across it next to the ash circle.  Derek is already awake and he’s glad to see he seems to be in control.  He’s sitting up, arms around his knees, eyes a little glassy.

 

The Sheriff cautiously joins them on the hard floor.

 

“Derek, how you feelin’, kid?” he asks.

 

A twitch of his fingers is the only response he gets.  John frowns, but doesn’t push him.  Looking to his son again, he reaches over and carefully shakes him, trying to wake him.  After the Nemeton happened, John found that if he woke Stiles roughly or loudly, he’d wake screaming.  John had to lock his arms around him to keep him from hurting himself on more than one occasion.

 

This morning, his son just mumbles nonsense at him, his nose twitching.  John huffs at the sight and in his peripheral vision he can see that Derek has finally come out of his head.  When he turns to look, he finds the kid watching father and son intently.  His heart gives a harsh tug as he registers the look of confused sadness coming to the boy’s face.

 

John has noticed that Derek has bouts of memory loss here and there - most likely a way for his mind to shut down during times of high anxiety.  He’s not sure why, but it seems as if Derek’s coping mechanism was to block out the good memories he had instead of the traumatic ones.

 

He can’t help wonder how much of his life in Beacon Hills he remembers.  If he remembers any of it - remembers his family before they died.

 

Shaking his head, he turns back to his own kid, nudging his shoulder again.  Stiles startles a bit, muttering something about black licorice before finally waking.  He slurs out a worried ‘what’, looking from his father to Derek and back again.

 

“Breakfast is ready,” he says.

 

Stiles nods and pushes himself up onto his knees.  He looks to the wolf, hands hesitating to break the circle.  After scrutinizing for a few more minutes, he slashes a break through the ash.  They’re both surprised when Derek rushes out, scrambling away to the furthest wall, away from them.

 

“Derek?” Stiles calls.

 

John slowly crawls his way over and tries to get him to talk to them, but an alarming high-pitched whine is the only thing he offers.  Stiles follows him over, blinking his eyes to clear the wetness that had formed.

 

The Sheriff tries to reach out, already knowing he’s not having a flashback, but is clearly afraid of something.  Maybe it’d been the ash circle.  John winces when he realizes it probably felt like a cage or prison to him.  Derek glances to Stiles, eyes darting to his neck where small red pinpricks have formed from where his claws had dug in.  A quieter whine escapes him as he pulls himself tighter against the wall.

 

The boy had flinched back when he tried to touch him and John raises his hands placatingly.  He tilts his head to gain eye contact before slowly reaching out again.  Derek watches, muscles coiled like he wants to run.

 

“It’s okay.  No one here is going to hurt you, son,” he says, resting his palm on his arm.  Stiles nods in agreement, the wolf’s gaze darting to his neck again before moving back to John.

 

He’s not sure what he was expecting, but Derek bursting into tears wasn’t it.  The kid starts choking out apology after apology, making that ache return to John’s chest.

 

“Derek, it’s okay,” Stiles says, tears clogging his throat as well.

 

John doesn’t expect the wolf to grab his son’s shirt and roughly pull him in either.  Stiles doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around him, assuring him again and again that he’s fine, that _they’re_ fine.  The wolf noses at the wounds he left on him and then keeps his face there, tucked into his son’s neck as if trying to hide.

 

They’re both crying and John looks away before he starts too.

 

He reiterates to himself that he may never want to know what happened to that stubborn kid who barely blinked when being accused of murdering his own sister.  John supposes the strength that Derek had held on to after the fire, after Laura, after Peter, simply couldn’t hold him or the world up anymore.  He wonders if anything or anyone can fix what has happened here.  If it’s repairable. John vows that the kid won’t go through it alone.

 

He and his son will be by his side no matter what.

 

* * *

 

“Thanks for coming, Marin,” he says.

 

She nods calmly and comes into the house, her gaze travelling over the room.  John is still wary of her after all these years, but he can’t doubt that she comes to their aid when needed.  It’s just the magic.  He has a hard time wrapping his head around how any of that works, no matter how much she, Deaton, or Stiles explain it to him.  Magic makes no sense to him.  It defies all logic.

 

“Where is he?” she asks.

 

He motions for her to follow him upstairs to his son’s room.  Inside, the two are waiting anxiously for her arrival.  Stiles seems to have recovered from his small bout with the darkness yesterday and is at his normal level of anxiety.  The wolf, however, has positioned himself as close to the window as possible, hands jammed in his sweatpants again.  The Sheriff and his son glance at the other two nervously, wondering how to get the ball rolling.

 

“Hello, Derek,” Marin says calmly.

 

She hasn’t moved very far into the room, giving the timid werewolf space.  John had warned her earlier about his behavior and fear, but she probably hadn’t needed it.  As far as he knows, she’s been working with patients like this for the past year - supernatural creatures in need of therapy.  John still wonders how this became his life.

 

The wolf doesn’t really acknowledge her, save for nodding politely.

 

“My name is Marin.  Do you remember me?”

 

She continues to use that low, calm voice that he’s heard her use with Stiles on his bad days.

 

“No,” Derek says, voice barely above a whisper.

 

The woman smiles and nods.  “That’s alright.  We didn’t interact much the last time you were here.”

 

Silence falls again and John shuffles back to lean against the wall, unsure if he should do something or not.

 

“Do you mind if we sit down?” she asks.

 

Derek visibly tenses, closing off even further.  His forehead crinkles just like every time he’s asked a question.

 

“Would you prefer the bed or the floor?” she asks.  She doesn’t seem hesitant about his behavior, which John worries about, but she’s the doctor here.

 

He watches the kid swallow harshly before glancing out the window as if he’s about to bolt out of it.

 

“You don’t like questions, do you?” Marin asks gently.

 

Though John knew the answer, he’s a little surprised at how fast Derek shakes his head in answer.  His hands are fidgeting in his pockets as he gets more anxious.  Stiles has been sitting in his desk chair, biting his nails as his gaze darts all over Derek’s face.  He almost sighs at it because he feels like his son might be getting in too deep.

 

“Alright.  I have one more question for you before we continue.  Would you feel more comfortable if I _told_ you my thoughts instead of asking you yours?” she asks.

 

Derek tilts his head a bit, considering the option.  After several minutes, he gives a tentative nod in response.  Both Stiles and he sigh in relief that they might have found a way to get through to him.  The woman nods and deliberates her next move for a few minutes.

 

“I’m going to sit on the bed.  You do not have to join me, but you may if you want,” she says slowly.  It hadn’t been a question and Derek’s right brow ticks in what seems to be surprise.

 

She takes a seat, crosses her legs, and folds her hands in her lap.  Not a moment in that position and Derek begins shaking before he quickly gets to his knees, head bowed obediently, hands clasped behind his back.  The only one that doesn’t look shocked at the movement is Marin.  She calmly registers the new development before slowly relaxing her body.  The woman then reaches out just as slowly and lifts the wolf’s chin so they’re facing each other.

 

“My name is Marin.  I am not her.  You do not have to obey me, you do not have to _submit_ to me, you do not have to be afraid of me.  She cannot hurt you here.”

 

Derek blinks a few times, before his brows pull in confusion.  He hesitantly pulls away from her, but doesn’t move from his position.  John has no idea who this ‘she’ is they’re referring to, if it’s a metaphor or an actual person.  His son is squinting, clearly trying to puzzle it out as well.

 

“Derek, you are safe with me.  You are free to leave this room whenever you want.  I want you to listen to my words again - you are free.  You are not a prisoner in this house, in this town; I am not your Alpha, I only wish to be your friend.”

 

Still uncertain, the kid glances at Stiles - who nods in agreement.  Derek looks back to Marin before slowly bringing his arms back to his side.  He straightens out of the pose just as slowly, staring her down as if in challenge.  She doesn’t go so far as to submit, but she does lower her eyes to say she’s not a threat.  Derek seems thrown by the action and sits down on the floor in a more comfortable position.

 

After a few moments of silence, Marin looks back to him and nods as if they’ve come to an agreement.

 

“You have scars,” she says then.  Derek flinches and crosses his arms defensively, as if trying to hide these already invisible scars.  “If I’m going to help your wolf too, I’ll need to see them.”

 

She begins to hold out a hand - to do some kind of magical reveal, John is sure - but Derek snaps a harsh glare her way.

 

“No,” he says.

 

His breathing picks up after he says it, his entire body shaking, as if waiting for the backlash.  All Marin does is lower her hand and think for a moment.  When Derek begins to fidget and his gaze darts around as if looking for a way out, she nods to herself.

 

“Derek, since this is not a prison and I am not your Alpha, you are allowed to say no to me whenever you want.  I will never punish you for refusing me or my suggestions.”

 

The kid narrows his eyes much like Stiles, but eventually nods in understanding.

 

“Now, about your scars-”

 

“No.”

 

“Alright.  We don’t have to do that today.  But if you want your wolf to heal as well-”

 

“No,” Derek says firmly.

 

John wonders if now that he has permission to say no, he’s using all the chances he gets.  If that’s the case, they may be in for a rough road.  Marin, however, simply looks him over again before nodding.

 

“In time, you will be able to reconnect with your animal side.  Your wolf is just as much a part of you as your humanity-”

 

“No, it’s not,” he mutters lowly.  Though he’s refusing to believe it, his irises briefly flash a bright blue.

 

Derek quickly closes his eyes and when he blinks them back open, they’ve returned to his normal green.  His gaze lands on Stiles, darting to the bruises on his neck, before going to the floor again.

 

“Derek-”

 

“The wolf doesn’t listen,” he says heatedly.

 

“I’m assuming you’re talking about control.  If you’re having trouble with it, I can help you.  We won’t dive into that just yet, not until you tell me you’re ready. I do need to know what we’re dealing with, however.  I know you don’t like questions, but I need an answer for this.  Just nod when I get it correct.”

 

Derek tenses, but nods in understanding.

 

“Do you lose all control on the full moons?”

 

Though he winces, he nods a yes.  John glances at Stiles, who’s biting his lip nervously.  They both avoid looking to the calendar on the wall.  It doesn’t matter anyway.  John had already been counting down the days as he usually does to help the pack prepare.  The full moon was in four days.

 

Marin frowns and taps a finger against her thigh - a rare act of nervousness from her.

 

“Is it possible you may lose all control when the moon is _not_ full?”

 

Again he winces, but again he nods.

 

“Have you lost all control since you’ve returned?”

 

Derek doesn’t nod to this, which has John frowning.  He’s seen the kid wolfed out and about to rip his son’s throat out.

 

“Have you lost _partial_ control?” she asks.

 

He nods this time.  John sighs quietly, unsure of what to make of that.  If that was the kid losing _partial_ control, what does losing all of it look like?

 

Marin nods as well and he can practically see her mental pen scratching down these answers.

 

“I understand your anchor used to be anger.  Has that changed?”

 

Derek shrinks in on himself, but doesn’t answer her.

 

“Do you have an anchor at all?” she asks gently.

 

The boy is shaking again, pulling more and more into himself.

 

“Derek, it’s alright.  We don’t have to plan anything today, but if you still don’t have one by the full moon, we need to discuss what to do.”

 

When he begins to rock back and forth, Marin nods to John, signaling the session should end.  Derek barely registers her leaving, too caught up in his rising anxiety.  The Sheriff waves for Stiles to take care of him while he speaks with Marin downstairs.

 

Once safely by the front door again, he turns to her with his million and one questions.

 

“What do you mean _partial_ control? Are you saying what I’ve already seen _isn’t_ him losing all control? And who were you talking about? Who is ‘she’?” he asks a bit frantically.

 

She sighs, but doesn’t respond to his attitude.

 

“I can’t tell you what partial and full loss of control would be for him. It means something different for every wolf. Stiles will know how to handle that.”

 

John wants to argue that they’re putting too much on his son’s shoulders, but she continues.

 

“As for the woman I was referring to…I took a guess, mostly. I’ve seen another patient perform the same position when I sit like that.”

 

“Another werewolf?”

 

“No, she’s a witch,” she says. “If I’m right and they’ve been abused by the same Alpha, then Derek may need more help than I can give.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“The girl I’m treating…,” she says, trailing off nervously.

 

“What? What happened to her?”

 

Marin hesitates, but sighs and faces him directly.

 

“She’s in Eichen – lower level,” she says quietly.

 

John stills at that. He didn’t know much about Eichen, but Deaton had explained to them that the lower level – the basement – housed the more violent patients.

 

“I couldn’t help her on my own, so I enlisted Dr. Fenris, the caretaker for the creatures down there.”

 

He nods in understanding, though this information doesn’t make him feel any better.

 

“This Alpha, the one that hurt them. Is she still out there?” he asks.

 

“I’m not sure. My other patient didn’t know, having escaped after making some deal she won’t talk about. As for outside clues, the trail for her has gone cold. All we know is that her first name is Eva.”

 

John sighs and closes his eyes.

 

“What is it?”

 

“During one of Derek’s flashbacks, Stiles said he was pleading for a ‘Miss Eva’ not to hurt him.”

 

Marin frowns and nods in understanding.

 

“I’ll work with him for a few months, but if I think he needs more help, I’ll have Fenris make a house call.”

 

Ignoring how ominous that sounded, John decides to move on.

 

“Any other advice?”

 

“I’m going to suggest weakly sessions with me, unless it’s a full moon.  I’ll be back on Thursday to discuss how we should handle that.  As for the pack...how did he react to meeting the two of you?”

 

“He still seems hesitant with me, but Stiles is different.  Sometimes he clings, sometimes he shies away.”

 

“Was last night the first time he became violent?”

 

“No, there was an earlier incident that afternoon. The time he spoke of Eva.”

 

She nods and says “I wouldn’t expect any different. Do we know what triggered either of these?”

 

John sighs and tries to think.

 

“Last night seems to have been a nightmare of some kind.  Stiles wasn’t sure about the afternoon.  He said they’d just been watching television and listening to music.”

 

Marin nods and thinks for a moment.

 

“Neither of those coincide with Eva so far, but I’ll do some digging. The only thing we can do about the triggers is watch carefully until he starts to open up.  What about Melissa?  Did he attack her?”

 

“No, not at all.  He was terrified of having her come over and wouldn’t come out of the bathroom-”

 

“The bathroom?  Why that one?”

 

“I have no idea,” he says with a shrug.

 

He’s not good at figuring that stuff out.  If he could interrogate him like a suspect and had to detect if he was lying or not, then no problem.  But more psychological issues like this he’s never been great at observing.

 

“But Melissa did say Stiles convinced him to join them for dinner.  He suffered another flashback when he entered the kitchen, but he didn’t become violent during it.”

 

“Dissociated?” she asks.

 

“Seems like it.”

 

Marin thinks for several minutes and John stares, waiting for more answers.  He just wants to know how to help.

 

“My next suggestion would be to introduce the rest of the pack slowly.  I wouldn’t ask if he’s alright with them coming over, just tell him that they are - gently.  I’d say wait a couple days from now and see how he does.”

 

“Who should we start with?  I mean, he kind of met Scott and flipped.”

 

“I’d say that’s a question for your son, Sheriff,” she says with a smile.

 

John sighs, but nods in agreement.  Stiles _was_ their emissary.  He knew the pack better than anyone - even more than Scott it seemed.

 

“Is there anything I can do?  Or rather anything I should do _differently_?” he asks.

 

She smiles again and pats him briefly on the arm.

 

“Just keep doing what you’ve been doing.  If he’s warming up to you, then that means he’s no longer viewing you as a threat.  That’s a good thing.  I’d try to limit the questions, but don’t be afraid to ask.  He’ll have to acclimate to that eventually, so it’s best to start with the people he’s closest to.”

 

With that, she leaves and John wonders what to do now.  It was his usual day off, therefore he’d usually be in his office pouring through his newest case.  John decides to wrap up breakfast and place it all in the fridge and then go back to looking through his files. He heads upstairs, checking on his son briefly as he passes.

 

In the room, the two are still on the floor, but Derek’s got his head in Stiles’ lap as the boy runs his fingers gently through his hair.  John watches for a moment, neither of them noticing him.  The older boy’s eyes are open, simply staring into space as Stiles pets him soothingly.  He can’t help wonder for the millionth time why Derek had sought them out instead of another of the pack mates.

 

As he watches them, he wonders if they have something deeper than a human friendship.  Scott has tried to explain to him what he feels when with Allison, as has Ethan with Danny, but he’s never been able to quite grasp what they were saying.

 

_“Yes, I love her, but it’s deeper than that.  It’s like a magnetic pull, but I can’t ignore it.  It’s always there, dragging me to her.  And when I **am** with her, it’s like I can breathe again.”_

 

_“He tames the wolf and excites the human.”_

 

John had always thought they were being dramatic, that it was just young love.  But as he watches Derek cling to his son and relax under his touch at the same time, he realizes that maybe he really hadn’t understood it - until now.

 

He leaves them be and goes into his office.  The dim lighting dances along his ring and he stares at it for a moment.  John wonders how he could be so stupid.  He _did_ understand what they were saying.  Ethan’s explanation had been when Claudia was alive, when she was happy and healthy.

 

That magnetic pull is what he feels now.  But she’s not here with him and he hasn’t breathed in ten years.

 

With a lump in his throat, he breaks out the bottle from his nightstand before he gets to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter :) Any and all comments are welcome.


	14. Empty And Restless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm a good Omega. I'll be good. I can be good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek suffers through flashbacks as Stiles struggles with his darkness.  
> Warnings: Heavy flashbacks, Graphic Depiction of Rape, Torture  
> If you want to know more about the above warning before reading, I have explained briefly in the end notes.
> 
> Side note: References are used from the movies Wall-E and Shawshank Redemption. Let me know if you're confused about any of it.

**Derek**

When the hand trailing through his hair slows to a stop, Derek rouses enough to peek up at him.  Stiles’ eyes are drifting closed and he tries to shake himself awake, but can’t seem to manage it.  Derek frowns at the sight, but maybe he kept him awake last night.

He sits up, pulling out of Stiles’ embrace, which seems to wake him a bit.  They stare at each other for a few moments before Derek nods towards the bed.

“Good plan,” Stiles says through a yawn.

He doesn’t bother to pull himself to his feet, simply drags himself onto the bed and flops down.  Derek carefully climbs up next to him, not wanting to jostle the bed too much.  He listens as Stiles’ heart slows and his breaths deepen almost instantly as sleep takes him.

Derek lies there for hours, watching the sunlight shift along the walls.  He listens to the Sheriff shuffle around his office, muttering to himself.  Every now and then glass would clink together, the heady scent of the man’s whiskey wafting under the door.  Derek doesn’t even pretend to be able to ignore it - his fingers twitching and mind racing every time he smells it.

The boy by his side hardly moves, save for his steady breathing.  Derek tries to pretend that doesn’t bother him either, but he finds his gaze glued to the kid’s back, watching it rise and fall just in case.  Derek eventually manages to drift into a half-sleep but is woken by the taste of salt.  He snaps awake, but quickly realizes he isn’t actually tasting it, it’s not his own grief.  It’s thick in the air, clogging the room and making it difficult to breathe.  When he realizes the space next to him is empty, he bolts upright.

Stiles hadn’t moved far, however.  He’s slumped in his desk chair, unmoving and staring at the floor.  Derek keeps very still, unnerved by the sight.  He may not remember much from when he was here last, but he _does_ remember that Stiles was never one to simply sit and not move.

“Stiles?” he calls cautiously.

The boy blinks slowly, but doesn’t raise his gaze from the floor.  After several minutes, he shifts to staring at the wall, his lips pulling down into a confused frown.  Derek gets up from the bed and tentatively crosses over to him.  Stiles doesn’t acknowledge him and he isn’t sure what to do, what to say - if he should even do anything.

Derek listens intently to the slow thump of the boy’s heart, latching onto it like he always does.  It’s steady beat draws him closer just like it had when he was still shifted, still running from everything.  He reaches out, placing his shaking hand on Stiles’ chest to feel the life strumming away inside.  Stiles finally moves then - a slow turn to stare at the hand on him and then up to Derek’s face.

The emptiness he sees sends his pulse racing and ears straining to make sure that heart really is still beating.  Stiles blinks slowly at him, but doesn’t say anything, making Derek’s panic grow stronger.  The longer he stares, the more comparisons he makes.

 

* * *

 

_Hand tightening, he waits for the pleading to start.  The young girl’s windpipe is second’s from being crushed and yet her heart beats steady.  She should be terrified, but the only scent wafting off her is exhaustion._

_He stares into her faded blue eyes and waits for her answer.  She hasn’t even tried to escape, hasn’t shifted to throw him off.  Chances are, though they’re both omegas, she wouldn’t be able to protect herself against him.  Perhaps she knows fighting is useless._

_“Okay.”_

_It’s not the answer that throws him, but the truth behind it.  Her heart had remained steady as it has ever since he’d grabbed her just inside her motel door and asked for the one thing he’s been searching for._

_Either she’s trained herself to cover her lies around other werewolves or she’s being honest for some insane reason._

_“What did you say?” he asks around his fangs._

_His vision bleeds red and his grip around her neck tightens in warning.  The ice cold hue of his wolf reflects back at him in her empty eyes._

_“I said,” she chokes.  “Okay.”_

_Derek listens hard, but can’t find the lie._

_For the first time in months, the red haze lifts and he releases his would-be victim._

 

* * *

 

As he stares into Stiles’ eyes now, he sees the same emptiness.  It shakes his wolf and the impulse to drag Stiles back onto the bed and cover him from the world leaves him spinning.  He doesn’t want to lose Stiles, he _can’t_ lose Stiles.

“Stiles,” he whispers nervously.

The boy blinks at him, but still no words come out.  Derek wonders if he should get his father, if there’s something actually _physically_ wrong.  He doesn’t smell anything other than that crippling grief clogging the air.

“Stiles,” he says again a bit louder.  He moves his hand from his chest to his shoulder, squeezing gently to try to get a reaction.

He continues to stare blankly.

Derek removes his hand, stands, and backs away a few steps.  He watches as Stiles slumps further in his chair, practically collapsing in on himself.  Ignoring his own fear, he slowly makes his way into the hallway and towards what he assumes is the father’s office.  He raises his hand to knock, but finds himself paralyzed.  He doesn’t know how the man will react to him interrupting his work.  Derek bites his lip and shuffles his feet.  When the floorboards beneath him creak, he wants to run, wants to pretend he never left Stiles’ room.

He doesn’t know when it started, but his breathing has gone heavy and he can’t move as sweat beads down his face.  Derek barely notices when the door opens or when the man starts talking to him.

It’s the hand on his arm that has him jerking out of it and closer to the wall at his back.

“Derek, what’s wrong?” the man asks.

His nose wrinkles as the scent of whiskey courses between them.  Derek’s body startles at the sudden need for it, the sudden unbearable craving.

“Derek,” the Sheriff calls again, moving closer.

He nods towards Stiles’ bedroom to get him to back off, no words able to form.  The man frowns and cautiously makes his way down the hall.  Derek’s gaze snaps to the open doorway leading into the office.  He can smell it, can easily imagine the burning liquid resting quietly in its bottle.

Derek shuffles forward on unsteady feet as his old friend calls to him.

“Derek, will you help me please?”

He jerks himself away from the doorway and turns to find the man guiding his son towards the stairs.

“We’re gonna make some lunch and pop in a movie.  I’ll call Mel so she can make that BLT you like.  How does that sound?” he asks.

Derek fidgets at the way his voice wavers with nerves.  His son simply grunts and shakes his father’s hands off his shoulders irritably.  He follows them, worry gnawing at his stomach.

The Sheriff sets Stiles up on the couch with a blanket, which he hardly reacts to.  Derek hovers uncertainly by the staircase until the man waves him over.  They both pretend he didn’t flinch at his raised hand.

“Would you mind sitting with him?” he asks and then cringes.  “Sorry, I know you don’t like questions.”

Derek shakes his head at both the question and comment.  He quietly takes a seat at the opposite end of the couch as the Sheriff disappears into the kitchen.  He can hear him shuffling around the cupboards as he makes a frantic call to Melissa.  Derek didn’t mind if she came over again.  He kind of liked her.  She was nice and she didn’t stare at him in silent demand to answer her questions.

Besides, something was obviously wrong with Stiles.  He still thinks Melissa might be his nurse, but he’s not positive.

The boy is listlessly staring at the dark television.  His hand lies between them on the cushion and Derek argues silently with himself.  That crippling grief is still hanging around Stiles like a fog and he wonders if he should reach out, take his hand in comfort.  In the end, he only manages to place his hand next to his, but can’t seem to cross the few more inches to make contact.

It’s easier when Stiles is actually present, actually moving and talking instead of just sitting there.  He feels like maybe he’s not supposed to disturb him in this state, that if he does Stiles will lash out.

When he hears the Sheriff shuffling back in, he quickly shoves his hand under his thigh.  He pretends he wasn’t thinking of touching the man’s son, that he hadn’t been thinking anything at all.  Who knows how his father would react to such a thing.

“Okay, Mel will be over after her shift ends.  Kid, you wanna pick a movie to watch?” he asks, staring down at Stiles.

The boy sighs sharply and shrugs.  Derek is surprised at the sudden attitude and grimaces, waiting for the punishment.  The Sheriff simply frowns and turns to the video collection to pick one himself.  He can’t help blinking at his reaction.  It confuses him, though by now he should realise that the older man isn’t anything like his Alphas.

Though he knows, it’s difficult to remember.

The Sheriff makes a little ‘aha’ sound and pulls out a case.

Back still turned to them, he says “Derek, if anything bothers you, don’t hesitate to tell me.  We’ll pick something else to watch.”

His lips part in surprise and he let’s out some of the tension he was holding.  When the Sheriff moves to sit down in his recliner, Derek gives him a timid nod in response.

Stiles remains utterly still on the other end of the couch.

Music begins to stream from the speakers, a man singing “Out there, there’s a world outside of Yonkers…”

Head snapping up, his lips twitch in an attempt to smile even as his chest aches.

“Way out there beyond the hick town, Barnaby.”

The Sheriff begins to hum loudly along with the song, shuffling his feet where they rest on the foot of the recliner in a little dance.  When the song quiets and the wind is howling through the speakers, they both glance to Stiles for some kind of reaction.

The kid only sighs.

 

* * *

 

As Derek watches the screen, transfixed by the two robots as they fly through space, he fails to notice the movement beside him until something lands on his thigh.  He jumps, startled to be suddenly touched and looks down to his lap.

His brows shoot up and he holds very still at what he sees.  Stiles had shifted on the couch.  Derek can’t tell if he intentionally leaned over or simply flopped onto his side.  Either way, his head is resting on Derek’s right thigh and he seems to be asleep.  He continues to hold still, unsure what to do.  He stares for a while, worried that Stiles isn’t really asleep, that he’s _trying_ something - what that would be he’s not even sure.

After several long breathless minutes he tunes into Stiles’ steady heartbeat.  It’s slow and even, matching his deep breaths.  He really has fallen asleep on him.  Derek unthaws slowly, but still doesn’t move much, not wanting to wake him.

Glancing up, he sees that the boy’s father has fallen asleep as well.  His head’s tilted back against the chair and his mouth is open as he snores lightly.  His left foot twitches every now and then, but he otherwise remains still.

Derek tries to relax in this new situation.

From the screen, he hears “Give me the plant” and the room flashes blue.

 

* * *

 

_Her screams hit that pitch that have his eardrums rattling.  The blue light stabs at his retinas and Derek roars long and loud, trying to gain the hunters’ focus._

_The brunette holding the baton smirks at him over her shoulder, her dark hair falling in waves down her back.  Derek’s teeth pull back and he growls low to entice her.  She tilts her head at him and his vision bleeds red as she jams the rod into Anna’s stomach again.  His friend’s scream ends in a whine of pain.  Her heart beats slowly, the sound of it threading through his senses._

_It’s drowned out by the clinking of the huntress’ chains.  They sway back and forth along her front as she moves slowly around the small dark room._

_“You know, I considered_ **_starting_ ** _with you,” she says._

_Her brown eyes flick up at him and she plays with the baton in her hand.  The blue light spiderwebs across her body, highlighting the paleness of her skin to the point it’s almost translucent.  Derek continues to growl lowly, as much warning as enticement vibrating through his vocal chords._

_The baton flashes again, sparkling along her full pink lips.  They twitch up into a smirk as she comes closer, her boots thunking against the cement floor._

_“But watching the desperation build in_ **_you_ ** _,” she says quietly.  “Every time I hurt small fry over there has been the highlight of my day.”_

_Derek snarls and tries to lunge, but he can’t get any traction as his feet simply scrape the floor.  His arms strain to keep holding his weight.  He hardly feels it, too focused on waiting for her to edge closer.  The vein in her neck has been his focal point for the last four hours.  He’ll rip it out before she even gets a chance to lay a hand on him._

_The woman glances to her right, gaze travelling over his unconscious friend.  Anna swings back and forth from her ropes and he tries not to think about her fading heartbeat._

_Turning back to him, her dark hair fans out around her shoulders as she smiles up at him._

_“But I think she’s down for the count, what do you think?” she asks._

_Derek roars and tries to lunge again._

_The room flashes blue._

_His roar dries up in his throat, a human scream ripping out of him._

 

* * *

 

When he comes to, the robot Eve is frantically changing Wall-E’s tires.

Derek’s shirt is damp with sweat and he’s breathing hard from the memory.  He’s vaguely aware that he’s shaking, but when he looks down, he sees that Stiles hasn’t been disturbed by his movements.  He’s still fast asleep, as is his father.

Derek clenches his hands into fists and doesn’t know whether to focus back on the movie or something else entirely.  His focus drifts in and out on it’s own, deciding for him.  He can still feel the phantom twinges on his skin where the huntress had prodded at him with her baton.

His stomach cramps horribly and his breath stutters dangerously.  Derek shakes his head and stares at the screen, letting the movie drag him back in.  He pretends the screams in his head aren’t there, pretends he can’t still smell the way his friend’s body had begun to fail her.

Wall-E beeps back to life and Derek pretends the noise doesn’t send his body back into panic mode; reminds himself that the sound won’t increase until his ears are bleeding - that there isn’t some depraved hunter pushing a button over and over again to produce the high frequency.

It seems like such a long time ago he was introduced to that device.  He vaguely remembers working with an old pack to herd fellow werewolves away from the town - _this_ town.  Derek doesn’t remember much about why he would do that, but he does remember that his sis-

That his Alph-

Cora.  That Cora had been there.  She was one of the wolves they’d been trying to corral.  If he’s honest with himself, he can say that he wishes he’d just killed her back then.

Derek swallows back the anger that used to be so familiar to him.  Anytime that white hot feeling rises up in him now, all he feels afterward is fear.  Getting angry and acting out only leads to more punishment.  He should know this by now.

In the recliner, the older man snores loudly, but remains asleep.  As Derek stares at him, it reminds him that he’s not in that place anymore.  Though he can never be positive, he doubts any harm would come to him hear if he got angry in front of them.

Still, he takes a few deep breaths and trains his gaze back on the screen.

His senses calm as the movie comes to a close and he relaxes further into the cushions of the couch.  He ignores how his shirt clings to him from the cold sweat coating most of his body.

The boy in his lap continues to sleep peacefully, his limbs heavy with it.  Derek watches the credits roll and wonders if he should wake one of them.  He gnaws on his lip as he considers it, gaze darting between them.  His thoughts swirl into a jumbled mix of questions that soon have his face flushing with new panic and his breath coming short.

Before he knows it the credits have ended and the screen is blue.  Derek shifts his right leg experimentally.  Stiles mumbles incoherently before sighing heavily, but he doesn’t wake.  It didn’t sound like a contented sigh.  It sounded like the sigh of someone who doesn’t want to be woken.

Derek glances at the Sheriff, but there’s no way he can get up to wake him without dislodging Stiles.  This shouldn’t be so complicated and yet it is.  He doesn’t want to wake them, but he also doesn’t want to sit here in the silence.  Not only is silence not a friend to him, they would probably ask questions later.  Questions like ‘why didn’t you wake us’, ‘why are you sitting in the dark’, ‘what’s wrong with you’.  All things Derek wouldn’t know how to answer.

The machine with the disc inside makes a beeping sound before the screen flicks to black.  As it goes into sleep mode along with its two owners, the regular programming kicks on.

Opening credits are just starting to play from some movie on the channel the television was left on and Derek swallows harshly.  He tended to stay away from television unless he knew exactly what was on.  The remote is still loosely hanging from the Sheriff’s hand.  There’s no way for him to reach it.

Derek grips the cushions tightly and nervously looks to the screen.  Maybe it’ll be something simple.  He can’t even always hope for children’s movies because he never knows what’s going to remind him of...well, _back then_.

Only two minutes into the movie and Derek immediately knows he _should not_ be watching it.  A sad man sits in his car listening to music.  He takes out a gun and a stash of bullets from the glove compartment before taking a sip of bourbon.

Derek’s ears prickle at the sound of the liquid sloshing in the bottle.  He’s instantly reminded that the Sheriff has a half bottle of whiskey sitting open on his desk.  It’s just up the stairs and down the hall.  The fingers of his left hand pull at the fabric of the couch as he inhales deeper.  Now that he’s thinking of it, the heady aroma of it is almost overpowering.

He once again considers moving.  There has to be a way to get up without waking either of them.

Derek barely registers the contents of the movie, his whole focus on the bottle upstairs waiting to be emptied.

“Consider this,” the man on the screen says.  “Four bullets per victim.  Not six shots fired, but eight.”

Lips brushing along skin.

The clink of a belt buckle.

Clever and nimble hands pulling a zipper.

Panting breaths, skin rubbing against skin, fabric ruffling.

 

* * *

 

_The metal around his wrists pulls tight, making him stumble forward._

_“Come on, Derek.  It won’t be so bad.  I don’t bite,” she says over her shoulder.  “Much,” she adds.  He can’t see it, but he can hear the smile in her voice._

_She leads him to a bedroom he’s never stepped foot in before.  It’s more luxurious than anything else he’s seen in this house - gold embroidered linens and curtains, intricately designed rugs laid out over the wooden floors.  Derek simply wonders why she doesn’t keep him in here; why she hasn’t moved his cage closer to her bed as the Alphas before her did._

_Keira slowly guides him there and nudges him onto the mattress.  He clenches his hands into fists and keeps his eyes lowered, not wanting to provoke her._

_“You know, my brother Dante really loved you.”_

_Derek jolts at the mere mention of him and she sighs._

_“It’s true.  I could see it in the way he looked at you.”_

_His eyes close at the memories of only 6 months ago, when her eldest brother still ruled this pack with an iron fist.  Derek still hasn’t decided who was worse out of the three siblings - her two brothers or her._

_So far, she isn’t as terrible, but tonight may prove him wrong._

_When a cool hand lands on his bare shoulder, he flinches and tries to shrink away._

_“I know my brothers viewed sex and punishment as the same, but it doesn’t have to be that way, you know,” she says._

_Derek holds perfectly still as she reaches out again.  Her delicate fingers trail down his neck and he dares to look up at her.  As her hand goes lower across his chest, a word he hadn’t dared utter in the past few months springs out of him._

_“Stop.”_

_Keira pauses, her eyes locked with his, before sighing and shaking her head._

_“Close your eyes,” she says._

_For a moment, he had hoped she would be the first to hear his plea and want nothing to do with him.  With a hard swallow, Derek reluctantly obeys.  Her other brother - the middle child - trained him well.  The Alpha has full control, the Omega none.  He will obey the Alpha’s every command and fulfill his - or hers, now - wish._

_The fabric of her silk robe gently swishes against her skin as she climbs onto the bed.  She gets behind him and brings her arms around in a loose embrace._

_“I want you to relax.”_

_Her hands trace the lines of his ribs and glide over his abdomen.  Derek’s eyes fly open on their own accord, her gentleness unnerving him more than any punishment her brothers’ doled out._

_Heart racing, his body twitches, wanting to be free of her hold._

_“Stop,” he repeats.  Even he can hear the panic in his voice._

_“Close your eyes,” Keira snaps._

_Sharp talons dig into his skin and Derek immediately stops squirming.  She retracts them the moment he complies, but it doesn’t make his fear dampen any less.  Plump lips peck at his shoulder in a chaste kiss.  Her left hand comes up to caress his neck and tilt his head to the side; the chaste kisses continue up his neck slowly._

_“I will be gentle, so long as you obey.  I don’t like to rush things.  Think you can handle that?”_

_Derek nods timidly, unsure of any other way to answer.  He didn’t want to be with her, didn’t want to be touched by her, or have her mouth on him.  All he wanted was to be free of all this, free of the life his sister threw him into._

_“Relax, Derek,” Keira whispers._

_He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly._

_Derek isn’t too surprised when he feels his body responding.  He is, however, shocked to find that when she gently palms him, it actually feels good.  His eyes fly open again and his own gasp for breath startles him._

_“There it is.”_

_Her whisper in his ear is full of excitement and he shivers with both fear and anticipation._

 

* * *

 

Blinking rapidly, he finds himself gasping with hot tears pattering down his face.  There’s a crushing weight on his chest and he gnaws on his lip to keep quiet.  She’d been so good to him - at first.  But wasn’t that always how it went?  Her and her brothers loved that trick - starting out gentle and nice, ‘a good Alpha’, only to turn on him later with more cruelty than he could ever imagine.

Keira had still been the lesser of three evils.  Compared to her brothers, she was nothing.  He could please her by just obeying and most of the time that was enough.  But when it _wasn’t_ enough-

Derek struggles to breathe as those memories try to force their way to the front.  He’d been stupid that first week with her; had gotten _comfortable_ with her.  He should have realized she was only pulling the “pamper” move, just like her brothers.  They treat him nice for a few days, a week at most, and then punish him for the slightest infraction when they got bored with the act.

That night she said she didn’t like to rush things and that had been true - though Derek thought it meant something different.  He’d thought she meant she always liked vanilla sex.

He was wrong, of course, as he is often.  After that week, she proved to him how wrong he’d been.  She still liked to take things slow, but that only meant the pain was drawn out.

Tears continue to pour down his face, dripping off his chin to soak into his already damp shirt.  No matter how hard he tries to stop them, they keep flowing.  The voices from the movie drift around the room in both harsh and soothing tones.  He doesn’t pay much focus to it, too out of it from the memory and vision too blurred.

When it does finally clear enough for him to see the screen, he wishes it hadn’t.

The name ‘Peter’ has been roughly carved into a cement wall.

 

* * *

 

_The sobbing of the girls’ keeps him on edge, keeps him wary of moving even an inch.  It’s difficult to not be touching each other with how cramped the cage has become.  Derek almost misses when it was only him locked behind the bars._

_“Why won’t she let us out?” the blonde to his left cries hysterically._

_Derek stares at her passively, her despair and discomfort almost reaching his sympathy, but not quite._

_“You’re my gift,” he says honestly._

_She and her friends tremble as they have the last four times he’s said it.  He didn’t understand what else they wanted him to say.  They were brought to the mansion and thrown into his cage for_ **_him_ ** _.  The urge to take advantage of his gift still tugs at his bones, the command of his Alpha -_ **_no, not his Alpha, his captor_ ** _\- coursing through his blood._

_One of the girls whimpers and suddenly scrambles for the cage door.  His gaze sharpens dramatically, zeroing in on her.  The beast inside of him shudders with anticipation, wanting to chase his prey._

_“Derek, keep it together.”_

_The man had mumbled it through unfocused lips as he continued to fiddle with the lock on the cage door.  Though Derek understood who he was now, it didn’t change the fact that they weren’t going to get out of here.  It didn’t matter how smart or resourceful the beta was.  This cage has always been inescapable._

_“You, sit down before he rips your throat out,” Peter adds, throwing an annoyed glance to the panicked girl._

_She whimpers again before curling up in the furthest corner, her shaking limbs pulled tight against her body.  Derek takes a shallow breath in through his mouth, refocusing his attention away from the sitting ducks inside his prison._

_A high-pitched giggle echoes down from the stairwell.  Peter huffs before moving away from the door, pretending he’s been a good boy.  Derek can’t help the hard swallow as he once again remembers how this man has begun to unravel his training.  Neither of them have been good boys.  They’ll be punished for it.  He shudders at the idea and ignores Peter’s wary glance his way._

_The basement door opens with a flourish and their guard skips in, humming some silly tune to herself.  He briefly wonders where her twin sister is, but then decides he's glad to only be dealing with one at a time.  Derek carefully keeps his gaze on the filthy cement flooring beneath his knees.  Their guard may not be his Alpha, but she’s still one of the pack’s trusted betas.  He is a lowly Omega - an object to be used, a toy to be played with.  Derek knows his place and remains perfectly still on his knees._

_Elena comes to a halt outside the cage door, her thin fingers wrapping around the bars.  She’s got a strawberry lollipop suckered between her lips, but she slowly takes it out now._

_“Why are they still alive?” she asks, pointing the pop at the girls._

_Peter gives her a tight, sharp smile and stands to greet her as usual._

_“Don’t think they were his type.  Wrong flavor, if you catch my drift,” he says and winks at her._

_Instead of flirting back, which has become the norm, Elena frowns and glides around the cage.  Her fingers trail along the bars and she comes to a stop in front of him._

_“What’s wrong, Derek?  Don’t you like your gifts?” she asks innocently._

_He swallows, but keeps his mouth shut.  His training is screaming at him to answer, to obey, but he doesn’t._

_“They’re all_ **_your_ ** _kills this time.  I’m sharing,” she says.  He can hear the clear pout in her words._

_When Derek continues to remain silent, Elena whines petulantly._

_“Derek, kill them,” she orders with a stomp of her foot._

_The red haze immediately descends over his vision, his fangs descending, and claws growing.  A low rumble begins in his chest as he lets the wolf drown the fear brought on by her command._

_A strong hand slaps against his chest, warm palm a steady presence against his bare skin._

_“Nephew, remember what I said.”_

_Derek snarls at him, but doesn’t push him away as he’s trained to do._

_“Don’t be afraid,” Peter says._

_The phrase clicks inside his head, slowing the rage of the wolf, and letting him reign in the shift.  His vision clears and he meets his uncle’s steady gaze._

_“I’m not afraid,” he says._

_Derek hears another whine from behind them, their guard unhappy with their new mantra._

_“Peter, I thought you were my friend,” Elena says._

_“I am, dear.  Don’t friends share?  Can’t I play with Derek for a while?”_

_Elena’s mouth thins and her dark brows furrow._

_“You broke him.”_

_“No, Little ‘Lena,” Peter says soothingly.  Normally the pet name calms the woman down, but now it seems to rile her up even more.  “He’s not broken.  He just needs a break to recharge, just like all your other toys.”_

_“No, he was fine until you played with him.  He’s_ **_my_ ** _toy and I want him to kill with me,” she complains loudly._

_Peter’s patience surprisingly begins to run thin and he huffs at her._

_“Well we can’t all get what we want, now can-”_

_Peter’s scathing comment is cut off with a wet gurgle, his lips still pursed as he tries to say the last word.  Warmth sprays across Derek’s face and chest, but he barely feels it.  He doesn’t feel anything as his uncle drops with a dull thud to the cage floor._

 

* * *

 

The droning voices of the movie filter back in and Derek blinks dazedly at the head of dark hair in his lap.  After all this time, he thinks he should still be feeling something about the way Peter’s blood spread across the cement.  The girls with him had shrieked in terror as he fell, but that was nothing compared to the screams they let out as Elena stepped into the cage and closed herself in with them.

Derek continues to stare at the boy snoozing on his thigh.  The memory should be bothering him more than it is, but just like that day, a pleasant numbness has washed over him.  It’s almost soothing in its lack of emotion.  He may even go so far as to say ‘calming’.

He drifts on the feeling for awhile and is so content at one point that he almost dares to drag his fingers through Stiles’ dark hair.

A storm brews on screen.  Lightning flashes and thunder rolls.

Derek’s throat closes, his arms coming up in a failed attempt to protect himself.

 

* * *

 

_Blood curdles around the claws imbedded in his throat.  It flows thick and heavy down his chest and stains her dress where it’s bunched around their waists._

_The beta clamps her thighs tighter around his hips.  Up, down, up, down.  She stares back at him, her deep brown eyes now an electric blue to match his.  Derek keeps waiting for her childlike giggle to erupt at any moment, before remembering which sister he's dealing with._

_“That feel good?” she whispers harshly._

_Derek chokes as more blood clogs in his throat.  He squeezes his one good eye shut as she rides him faster.  Up, down, up, down._

_Emma moans and her fingers tighten around his throat, her talons sinking impossibly further inside.  She’s gasping for breath and Derek wishes he could lean forward and rip her lungs right out of her chest.  If he can’t breathe, then she shouldn’t be able to either._

_“Oh fuck, you feel that?  I’m gonna come again,” she pants in his ear._

_His entire lower half went numb an hour ago, which he was silently grateful for.  She’d shot him up with something, keeping him hard for her, but he couldn’t feel it.  All he could feel was the pain in his chest as he tried to breathe around his punctured lung and broken ribs._

_“You’re gonna come with me this time, right?” she asks.  When he can only gurgle in response, she removes her claws from his throat._

_Her slick fingers trail up into his thin hair and sink into his scalp.  Emma pulls harshly, making him bare his throat to her.  A low rumble rolls up from her chest, vibrating against his own._

_“You better come this time.  Good Omegas come when told,” she growls._

_Derek is shocked and horrified to feel a twinge of pain in his groin.  At this point there’s no way for it to be pleasure.  She’s been fucking him too long, wrung out too many orgasms for his body to produce anything, even with the shot she gave him._

_In a weak attempt, he tries to shrink out of her grasp, but there’s nowhere for him to go.  He can’t move his arms, which have gone numb as well, and he’s still chained to the wall._

_His body arches on it’s own accord and he cries in agony.  It’s the first sound he’s made in hours._

_“That’s it.  Don’t fight it.”_

_Emma’s moans grow louder and he can feel her inner walls flutter around him, sending sharp pains along his raw skin._

_“Come on, Derrie.  Come for me,” she says against his still bleeding neck._

_He struggles to bring in more air as his body begins to cramp up.  Derek wonders if he can just come one more time for her she’ll leave._

_“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she strains.  “Come, Derek._ **_Now_ ** _.”_

_The roar that erupts from him is wet with blood and loud enough to shake the walls of his prison.  Emma’s scream almost matches it in volume as she shakes through yet another orgasm.  Her fangs dig into his shoulder, claws sinking into both his scalp and lower back, tearing the skin to shreds._

_When it’s finally over and his body sags back against the stone wall, his roar immediately peters out into heaving sobs.  He turns his head away from her, knowing he’s failed her._

_“That felt a little dry on your end.  What do you think?” she pants._

_Derek doesn’t answer.  He never does.  Not anymore._

_“I think we keep going until you learn to be a better Omega.”_

_With that, she rears her head back and lunges for his neck.  The lightning from outside whites out his vision, but her bite has it going dark a second later as his body gives in._

 

* * *

 

Ragged sobs tear his already abused throat apart.  His breath wheezes in and out painfully and he continues to struggle against the hands holding him down.

“Derek, you’re alright, son.  Wake up, come on.”

He shakes his head frantically in both denial and confusion.  His lips are moving around gasped words he can’t hear.  Nothing makes sense.  A moment ago he could barely see through his swollen eyes, but now he blinks through tears.  Someone continues to hold him down, their face close to his as they speak to him.

“You’re safe.  You’re in the Stilinski house.”

Recognizing the mantra, he immediately tries to still his arching back.  The man above him continues to reassure him that he’s safe, but he doesn’t understand.  He’s not safe, he’s _never_ safe.

Fresh cries spring out of him, shaking through his chest in waves.

“You’re alright now.  You’re safe.”

The words he was saying earlier become louder and more coherent.

“I’m a good Omega.  I’ll be good.  I can be good.”

The man’s lips part, his eyes softening even further, but Derek barely sees him anymore.

_“Be a good Omega, Derrie.”_

“Emma please,” he cries weakly.

“Shh, Derek, you’re safe.  It’s just you and me.  Focus on me,” the man says.

“I’m a good Omega,” he repeats.  Over and over he says it, trying to convince her, to convince them all.

“Yes, yes, you’re a good Omega.  I believe you.”

Derek instantly stops struggling, his cries slowing as he finally sees who’s above him, who’s holding him down.  It’s not a controlling beta, but the Sheriff.  His face is pinched in worry and the more Derek calms, the gentler the man’s hold becomes.

“That’s it.  Take it easy.  You’re safe now.”

Breath still unsteady, he fidgets to get the hands fully off of him.  When they retreat, he immediately wraps his arms close to his midsection, thumbs tentatively prodding at his sides.  He takes in a deeper breath just to feel his lungs expand without the agony of broken ribs hindering it.  Shaking, he tries to shrink away from the too bright lights of the room and the pounding heartbeats nearby.  Bringing his legs onto the couch cushion, he curls up as tight as he can.  Derek flinches as he becomes fully aware of the vulnerable state his body is in.

Ducking his chin towards his knees, he tries to protect his jugular.  His hands curve tighter around his barely exposed waist and his legs pull tighter together to hide his groin.

Everything was too loud, too bright, too close.

“Derek.”

The Sheriff reaches out towards his shoulder and Derek tenses, wanting to scramble away, but not being able to move.

“Okay, I’ll back off,” the man murmurs.  He takes a step back and with more space, Derek gives in to the urge to rock back and forth, reveling in the way his body doesn’t cramp in pain.

Slowly, he becomes aware that the nurse - Melissa - has joined them.  In his peripheral vision, he can see her holding an unmoving Stiles on the other end of the couch.  If he couldn’t still hear the kid’s beating heart and steady breathing, he’d be worried he hurt him.

“Do you know where you are?”

Derek nods once, but doesn’t say anything.  He still can’t move.

“Good.  That’s good, Derek.”

Against his will, the words repeat again.

“I’m a good Omega,” he mutters into his knees.

“I know.  I believe you.”

The Sheriff and Melissa murmur to each other, but Derek tunes it out, focusing solely on the steady beating next to him.  The two of them eventually retreat into the kitchen, pots and pans rattling together softly.  He isn’t sure how long he sits there, rocking gently back and forth, but at some point the aroma of what he thinks may be soup wafts in from the other room.  It settles warmly in his chest, having him taking in deeper breaths of it.

It lets him slowly relax into the cushions, but he doesn’t uncurl just yet.  He glances to the boy at the other end of the couch.  Derek lets out a slow sigh when he finds Stiles’ eyes to be just as devoid of life as they had been all day.  He doesn’t know what’s wrong, but he wishes he could help.  To himself, he’ll quietly admit, that he wishes Stiles was aware enough to wrap his arms around him as well.  He knows it’s selfish, so he leaves him be and watches from afar.

The longer they keep eye contact, the more light seems to seep into Stiles’ honey-brown irises.  Derek fidgets restlessly and is surprised when the boy does the same.  Curiosity almost has him reaching out, but he carefully keeps his hands to himself.

Stiles, however, slowly crawls his fingers across the space between them.  His movements are languid, as if he’s moving through sludge.  His hand comes to rest by Derek’s thigh and he watches some kind of inner struggle flicker across the boy’s face.

His hand turns over, palm up.  Derek glances between it and his expression, taking in the way his mouth pinches and brows furrow in concentration.  Whatever is wrong with him, it’s obvious he’s trying to push through to reach Derek.

With his own trembling hand, he tentatively touches his fingers to the other’s.  Stiles’ jolt a bit beneath his.  Derek gently drops his hand further, brushing their palms together.

Stiles’ fingers curl inward, lacing with his own.  Their thumbs copy each other’s caressing movements.

For the first time all day, the tight knot in Derek’s chest loosens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Also, I apologize for how slow I'm updating.
> 
> Warnings mentioned in beginning notes:  
> This chapter details two separate scenes of rape (one brief, one explicit). They deal with yet another Alpha (this is brief and mostly details non-consensual touching) and a beta from one of his former packs (this is an explicit scene not unlike the one written in chapter 11, though the rapist is a young woman; as is the Alpha). I will also warn that Derek is tortured by a hunter in one of the scenes (though I do think this is canon-typical violence). If you feel uncomfortable at all, feel free to skip this chapter.
> 
> Any and all comments are welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> POV's will shift between Stiles, Derek, and the Sheriff for part 1; part 2 will only be Sam and Dean, and part 3 will only be Derek. Though this story is mostly Derek centric - Stiles, Scott, and Allison are also suffering 'the darkness' aka the effects of the Nemeton sacrifice (though I've put my own spin on it). By the way, when I started writing this, I didn't know who the new Kitsune character would be, so I created my own OC.
> 
> Any and all comments are welcome, and don't forget to leave Kudos if you like it :)
> 
> Side note: For people following my author page and/or any of my other stories, I am still working on those, but I'm trying to update at least once a month - even if it's a completely new story.


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